A Deaf Flame's Flicker
by Starry's Light
Summary: A miraculously thin munchlax suffering from low self-esteem butts heads with a deaf chimchar whose mouth has yet to be washed of curses, thus forcing their fates to twist and their story to be not alone but together. Now apparently they have to get along or something? And, like, be... friends, and junk? Some lives are about to change: big-time.
1. I Swear it's not Suicide

**Hello, reader! I am Starry's Light, but it seems I can't avoid being referred to as Starry. Which is shorter. So I get it. If you have no idea who the heck I am, that's cool. If you do, that's cool too. I'm just here to work on the skill of writing, learn s'more about myself, and lead up to my goal of learning how to write well and thus, learn about author life.  
Now let me actually tell you something toward the story:  
this is A Deaf Flame's Flicker. Picture the most filthy-mouthed person you know, multiply them by a high number, set their bum on fire, cut off their ears, and you have Ashley. Who is Ashley, exactly? Well, I mean, you'll have to read to figure that out. Also we have Munchie. If you want to picture Munchie, think of someone with no self-esteem that's living in the back of their head.**

 **If you really want to know their actual characterization, read on. If you don't, read on anyways~ And welcome to a world where the present can change the future.**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter One: I Swear it's not Suicide

He basically considered himself a noteworthy disease—it just felt that way, how everyone would raise their eyes to look at him and it's like they're totally scowling at him because he's a disease. It's just how he was. That scruffy, dusk-blue creature, painfully skinny with his teeth sticking up weirdly, with the long fur nearly covering his feet, and his ears—oh, his horrid ears—pointing like fangs: him. That was him. Remorse burned his cheeks as he lie on the ground, staring aimlessly up at a cloud-borne sky. His fingers rose and fell without rhythm. His eyes, dull and dark—gently lined in a skyline blue of light hopes he actually didn't find—blinked aimlessly. He was aimless, always aimless.

The munchlax didn't have much else to do but look on up. It still felt weird, the remembrance that his skinniness happened to be wrong for his type of pokemon, he was supposed to be meaty and strong and huge but turns out he's not, so therefore he has to, has to be a disease. He didn't know what else to do sometimes but flop over and look somewhere that didn't have worries, which ended up looping to the sky. And there he lie then. Staring.

"Pretty." He spoke in a soft whisper, a slight husk capturing over it. Without much else to do or say, he continued his staring, shifting his arms irregularly and sometimes letting out a soft sigh. Why?—just because. It, well, felt pretty right, first off. Also he was pretty sadistic as it was. Staring at the clouds provided his single reason to look up at all when the ground was so much more softer and lighter and brown and didn't frown at him, he felt confident. The ground, now the ground liked him. No one else did, though, and that was okay.

At least, it felt like no one else liked him. His jawline sprung into a spiral of doubt fraying at the edges with those sharp, white, pointy teeth as Munchie gnawed on his lip and debated, then stopped debating and called it a day. If he stopped worrying about it and just went back through town again, maybe someone would look at him and smile this time. Sometimes it happened. Those were practical miracles—but hey, sometimes it happened. The puffy, white clouds dipped in eggshell blue sky frayed at their own edges and displayed rather shocking changes in color that the munchlax knew would roll over and reveal an astounding sunset.

Sunsets, in the least, always happened to be astounding. At the end of the day, Munchie had a reason to go on: the symphony, the preciseness, the master in the sky with the paintbrush, the guy who turned off the sun, patted a powder-white crystalline moon into the scene, and ended each day with stellar recollection of bright colors, from red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple and all the weirdos in between. Reason. There, the blue mammal found reason to go on. Sunsets kept him waiting; he was their only audience, and it at least felt like they appreciated his coming. That alone felt satisfying in his tittering heart, shut off and awkward, all limp and flubbed up, in his chest.

Unlike all of the busybodies roaming back at Treasure Town's entrance, Munchie found those little secret niches that held special things the others missed because they had other entities to rely on. He... mostly relied on those little things, like, of course, the sunset. But this, obviously, was not the best place to watch for a sunset as astounding as the ones he was trying so hard to describe; Sharpedo Bluff didn't offer much. Sure, the place left off on a gritty cliff and offered the best place to watch clouds, but you had to crane your neck if you wanted to see far down and you had to turn your face at an awkward angle to watch the sun meet sea and call it a day.

That time was coming, the air around the thin munchlax buzzed with it. His cone-shaped ears twitched, fondled the notion. He could never miss one of those sunsets: ever. That was his sole purpose in life, to be the one audience member of that sunset out on the beach shorelines that pokemon tended to avoid—if he listened more to said passerby, maybe he'd sympathize with their slight disgust or fear of the trashy creatures that lived in the area. Also, a Mystery Dungeon sat like a fat, ugly wart, just on the edge of town, just right there, on the beach.

Those kinds of things were messed up. There was that one guild on that one road that supposedly helped keep such disgusting things at bay, but... they were disgusting, was all. Nobody liked Mystery Dungeons all that much. Munchie did his best to void that part of town entirely; sometimes he did catch gleans of words from the teams in the guild, all those buddy-buddy nincompoops, and admittedly longing set a fire in his heart, to be buddy-buddy with the nincompoops and fit in. He yearned for fitting in, ironic since he didn't.

Brusquely Munchie shook his head and stood on his somewhat-plump cream feet, dusting miniscule dirt molecules from his shaggy coat. _Skkksh,_ and with a skid he trotted off, back staring out at the lovely baby cumulonimbus clouds as his eggshell-blue-lined hopeless orbs drilled into tree after tree stuffed by lavish leaves glistening with the song and color of nature. Zundentun had never looked finer. Aimless stories lost track in the munchlax's wandering mind as his head swayed side to side, of how there once a long time ago existed a baby Zundentun and the world was all connected as one and there were other islands out there, but it was all one big thing of land, and the first pokemon—legends—created artificial things like seasons to keep the world in check. Then, as every child knew, the artificial things mostly stopped working and the magic happened, like mutations, that started gluing things together.

Magic was a loose term that fitted the sun, a strange ball in the light, the moon, a strange ball in the dark, and Mystery Dungeons, disgusting things that took up space and were too complicated to bother explanation. Other things, he'd heard, fit that loose term as well, but the sun and the moon and ugly Mystery Dungeons were basic understandings of magic. Apparently they were all connected somehow.

He didn't really care that much, honestly. Attaining to knowing every problem inside and out didn't suit Munchie. Watching sunsets by himself did, though. And also lonesomely yearning for a friend. He didn't like to talk about that last one very often, not even to the sunset.

Here it came, he inwardly groaned, where the pathway of dull browns and oranges and tangelos, fettered so powerfully to the earth beside walls of short-cut, fuzzy grasses, droned on and dropped the trees, which spilled and splintered off to the farther lefts and rights as the constant jubilee and banter and music of Treasure Town sprung. If anyone wanted to be where Mystery Dungeons and other crazy magics weren't, they'd better hope they were in Treasure Town. Munchie had heard from the scraps of other conversations that the other islands of the world, so spread out no one hoped to venture into other territories, also pertained to Mystery Dungeons but that none of them were so consumed at its filth like Zundentun. Of course, everyone had heard of the other large bodies of land, as elders had passed from elder to elder to elder, swapping stories of time until the very oldest elders who were there when the lands split, had heard what the other islands began to name themselves.

Apparently, if his logic was well in-tune—he felt guilty about not feeling guilty about eavesdropping so freely for his entire life—the other islands were calling themselves... Truught, Uytee, Venturus, Warldo, Xendrandentus, Yoctta, and... Zundentun. Guiltily, in the guise that he recalled the other island names so well, Munchie decided he'd better hold off of eavesdropping tonight. That was sad. That was really sad. Being able to label those huge and complicated names so easily—yeah, let's not do that again.

So with his sadistic, darkly sunken eyes lurking and darting and blinking and holding back emotion, or at least trying to, the cloudy-blue and dusty-pale munchlax hopped to his usual routine. Slink, shadowy, pretend to be nonexistent, he would tumble and attempt to be as fake as possible, so no one had to see him and scowl at him. Though he didn't truly know if anyone actually did scowl at him, because he didn't look at faces, but he felt reasonably assured he got them. A munchlax like him didn't belong, which was why he fit in through the shadows of Treasure Town, where no one would notice him. He had no reason to be noticed in this place, so bright and colorful and happy and he didn't feel like he could belong here. Well, anywhere, really, but mostly here.

Alas, it was the only town that offered a place to hide in refuge from the rest of the world, the rest of the Mystery-Dungeon-ridden world: so he took what he got and tried to make his smile less crooked when he did for it. Oh well. Shaking his loaf-sized head, Munchie's dusty body spied a creature staring right through him and he squeaked and his eyes leaked and suddenly life's burdens all crashed down on him and he was stuck, locked in a stare with another creature.

To be exact, this thing must have been female. He'd spied it strutting around the place with the baby in its warm, brown pouch. A pretty brown. Plunging in with the assumption, he went on: the creature's massive, cream face and chest jutted out to look down at him, a shell-like black husk over her head with spines—spines!—sticking out of it in the sameness of his teeth if they weren't so crooked. Spines darted down her long, thick, browner back and he knew he didn't like the girl. Her thick, dark tail stuck out, her shoulders squared, and he knew he was in for it the moment those lips curled into a grin. He knew he was in for it. He'd screwed up. After all his time alive and this was it, this was the day: he was screwed, screwed, so hopelessly screwed.

Here, also, hung a chance, like life, tittering off in his stubby little fuzzy fingers. He could go up to the kangaskhan. He could uphold her welcoming, grin back, nod, introduce himself, _hi, I'm Munchie, how are you,_ and he could be a part of life and finally succeed in finding a place.

This was it.  
This was his time, the moment he'd been waiting for, when he'd finally become a somebody.  
This never happened before, from all he saw, with his head facing the ground.

And with his head shaking fearfully, standing there like a goofball without moving for way too many moments to be acceptable, surely, the kangaskhan still welcoming him and smiling and waving past pokemon that would be able to use her wares: customers, she was voiding customers for him: it all stuck in.

He didn't know if she'd smiled at him before, but this was his moment.

One foot awkwardly shuffled, come on, go forward, this is it, this is it. It _skished._ A bright pink puffball of a creature breezed past him and the faint, sweet scent of strawberries tangled in his nose, in his fur too. Good impression; good impression. Another foot, a little bit closer, he got this under control, he'll finally be recognized.

Though he was far too off, a hand extended, ready to shake her thorny paw.

Then suddenly the intensity of the situation caught up with him and lights went off in his brain and this was the worst idea in the entire universe that had even been created at all, what are you doing stupid Munchie this is bad everyone hates you, and he fled like a shadow into the sunny morning. It was opposite, the sunny morning was fleeting now, but that mattered not. Munchie never looked back to find out if the nice lady waved after him or kept smiling or tried anything at all to help him out. He wasn't... that slow. Though his fur tripped him up and he skidded to a halt, the musty tang of dirt meeting his mouth as he crashed into a stumbling somersault and with a groan, spat pebbles freely.

"I can't do this," he whispered numbly, a squeaking, childish fear much more dominant than the manly husk this time around. "I'm terrible." Like it was the most obvious thing ever, Munchie nodded to it and let out a long, shaky breath, his heart still somersaulting into what must be his spleen like the freak show it had to be.

Then he realized he had stumbled into the midst of town, the most boisterous and persiflage-infected place in all of Treasure Town, and his heart rate spiked again. Legs aching beneath layers of dusky, shaggy blue furs, pale little feet scrambling back, shoving amongst the tidal wave of a crowd coming in for high tide, Munchie pulled past the merry creatures on their way as his teeth sawed through his lip in pure agony because this always was the worst part: flanked by all of the other creatures and then staring at them and seeing the light catch their eyes. Because of safety, of happiness, of thank-goodness-magic-doesn't-hurt-us-here, for all those things and maybe more too.

Whether or not other creatures glimpsed at him in hopes of striking conversation, the thin, unbearably disease-labeled-unbearably thin munchlax stuttered, and ambled, and tripped, onward, head attempted to be held high with a somewhat success rate stirring in his aching skull. His ears sat straight up like mountains peaked on his head, and they twitched at times, especially if someone taller—and there was always someone taller—brushed by. Finally the suffocation of other pokemon that would hate him for being different and hate him for everything else too: gone. Munchie stumbled on past the final crossroads and took off from the road releasing fettered control, tossing away manacles, and he stretched out fluffy, fluffy arms hooked with wind streaming and setting open air to catch upon as he stumbled, more stumbling, down the rough edges of bright yellow and husky brown blocks of sand that were weathered and always threatening to cross downward until the pouf of literal soft sands buffeted him.

His head stuck up like a rock. "Yes!" A fist protruded. "I made it! Just like I said I would! Just like I always do! I made it." Shaking a shaggy head now studded with granular bits of sand the color of sunlight particles, Munchie licked his sandy lips and smiled again, not even caring about those stupid, crooked teeth, because no one would hate them here. "The sunset, as usual, is mine. I made it." The husk of a tone, filled to the brim by that softer voice, somewhat velvety, again mixed to the sky as Munchie, sucking in deep breaths, trying to lose the permeating aftermath, a stain in his mind, of the day's escapade. He still had time to spare until the actual sunset began, as he hadn't stopped to eavesdrop this time around, and scrounged about the sand-dusted area, staring up to his left at times to observe the overhang of sandstone and other studded rocks, perhaps a bit of quartz or so, just every so often. Some areas, clogged with more the rocks, less the weathered evidence, held stronger, but also were smoother, harder to climb. The vast majority of the rest of those rocks contained crumbly substances that somehow had to work as a way to climb back up.

Of course, for all of his life he'd spent at the sunset, always catching a glimpse of it since birth, as it was his life purpose, his necessity, Munchie knew of the other dirt paths eased into corners, edges, easier to climb. He always found himself mixed into an untidy rush when he waltzed into his safety haven though and tended to tumble as he just had, a tumult of emotional and physical cries of _help me,_ because his self-esteem was just as rocky. Obviously. A bit painfully obviously. Eyes smoldering, he scrounged not much longer and chanced upon the smaller trail, sticking into the sandstone walls of half-smooth half-weathered to find that unruly pathway, stuck with coral and other reds and pinks of sea things, to the Mystery Dungeon just on the brink of touching the last patch of non-Mystery-Dungeon-infested land: Beach Cave.

Swarms of pokemon apparently summoned by the Dungeon itself—so he's heard—tangle into the vents of pathways littered about in such labyrinthine fashion, even though that first trail didn't technically mix into Mystery Dungeon just yet, and drop goodies. This, this simple method of scrounging about in those chambers whenever he chanced upon them—he knew where the safe ones were, and which ones to avoid—and could easily pull out a small pile of loot to use in life.

He got on. It was how life went, and with an acceptable weight of multicolored berries and even the occasional sparkly oval of golden-yellow treasure, Munchie existed not long after. A munchlax, even the rather skinny one here, has to eat quite the significant pile of food to keep them going without piling into a pathetic pile of sleepiness and just wearing the day away in a snoozing haze. Therefore, sweet juice after spicy pulp after sour tang splattered into the munchlax's face and snout and mouth and filled him with energy until the significant berry pile began to dwindle and his belly sat satisfied in its master's work.

Every body eats. Even Munchie took a staggering amount of extra delights. He—embarrassed—sort of kind of had to. Another reason why everyone must hate him, he deliberated smoothly, rubbing the different flavors of berry juice from him. Some of the morsels, as always, would be bruised or slightly smudged by poison or rotting, but he didn't have to worry about such nonsense when he was a munchlax and he ate all. Even Munchie wasn't picky, making him feel, with a twinkle in his stomach, just the slightest more normal.

Resting his back against a particular edge of sandstone, scratchy enough to comfort his back but smooth enough to cause the same pleasantries, and with a final wipe of his maw with a paw dipped in water, the fluffy mammal lost his heart to the melding of colors in front of him: this: his purpose. It had come, as it always did. Bubbles of gentle cyan sprung from the ocean, combined with the mixture of hot, steamy reds sifting in the sky, melding into a creamy orange that took over most of the clouds as bright lime sprayed into the mix and catapulted further only a jutting smidgen of colored splashes into the eggshell blue above that began to churn with turquoise. Then the turquoise found yellow and became lighter, lemony, twisted with ringlets of golden sparkles. Munchie lost his breath to the slow and gentle fade of colors as it seemed to pat him on the head, comfort him, _we'll be back again,_ and patches of the sky above dimmed.

He wouldn't have stopped his aimed, purposeful, needy watch had it been for the sudden burst of bright, white-hot light that splattered over the sand, sucking in some particles while bits of ocean from the other side _swiiishshhhhed_ and _swaaaaasshshhhhed_ into the fluid mixture until it all crumpled. A lodge in Munchie's throat, and he could feel in his scattering heart with a stab something was amok. Also the crumpled, orange figure with slick fur meant something was amok. Although he quite didn't like it, he also understood he could do nothing else but pull back from the staining colors above burning into him forever like always and check out that poor, limp thing.

First, he called out. "Hey! H-hey, you!" Because of his continuous bouts of talking to himself, his voice held strong without wavering quite yet. It was a creature, he recognized, but also it didn't recognize him. And it looked like it needed help; someone less fortunate than even swine like _him, oh did they deserve_ a chance. And he could help. Looks like he'd have to.

The figure didn't stir after his calling. "Hey! Are you okay?" His husk caught beneath the softer question. No reply. No movement. "A-ah! Don't die! Get up!" When this as well didn't knock the being in the water upright, Munchie, with a groaning chime of a cry, flopped up on the ground, shook out his sandy back, and trotted over to the ocean. The sunset had unintentionally become the least of his worries, with this strange thing from the light slapping into the waves of glittering blue. His darker, duskier, huskier, very much fluffier paws swamped the creature's entire orange arm which he detected to be coated thinly in fur. No other choice swimming in mind, more so flopping like this thing, Munchie extended his single arm and a flick of the wrist sent the creature from half-submerged and half-drowned to covered in spots like a sugar cookie, its body wet and sopping and cold and... sandy. A little cute.

Taking a closer look, Munchie confirmed this was good to be cute because the creature had to be female. No other way. There are some things that a creature, no matter what, can always tell. It was painfully obvious. With a cough rattling in his throat, Munchie stared with wide, blue-rimmed eyes as the thing unraveled herself and stood on hunched, not-even-standing legs that bent easily: they were tiny orange nubs so he couldn't judge that much.

After the small, a-little-cute orange limbs came fingers and toes, each long and angular and thin and pale, with no hair. Her face, angular and rather tiny, was the same pale and it traveled up from an orange-furred neck. Her fiery red-orange eyes burned like a flame. And she had... hair. On her head. All wavy and short like a cute bob except for one point where a lot of knots connected and spouted long, glittering orange waves. The tiny thing with the... mostly tiny pale chest stretched out her lungs, yawned loudly, squeezed her eyes shut, and said in a harsh, jutting, to-the-point slap of a tone: "Well that was one fucking ride I hope I never have to get shitted into again. Wooooo, heeeellll!"

Then the flame of a tail spouted, and she snorted with a flicker of its motion. "I think my ass just started burning again. That's bound to be a good sign." Such shock of the momentum, that this tiny thing with large hands and feet and a cute face just suddenly _burst_ like that sent the munchlax loudly squeaking and flopping and reeling, his ears and face submerged into salty blue waters and a cough and his fluffy, incredibly fluffy layered furs all dry but for his dripping head, and somehow he fell onto sand again, rolled up and dripping droplets and flailing and upset, and she didn't react whatsoever, like she didn't notice him.

Chimchar. It struck him. That girl was a chimchar. Then she suddenly slipped from view and suddenly a weight slammed into his skull and he was on the ground, the sunset pouring into his gaze again and he wanted to pour into it, to lose himself into the colors, but then the choppy scrawl came and flung itself at him. "Who the fuck are you? This damn bitch boy! What's he doing here! What the hell are you doing here, damn bitch—filthy, yes!—filthy bitch boy what are you doing here!"

An awkward pule fell from his lips. "I am deaf, smartass. Talk so I can read your damned sand-stuffed lips or I won't be able to understand you."

The first words in a long time came into his head. "What are you doing here?" It struck him afterwords that was rude to ask a lady—even this... thing. Of a lady. Still, she was better off than him, as all were, and it was rude to ask a lady such a personal question. He didn't apologize though.

"I think your fucking eyes are flashing with apology. Eh, what the hell. I'm here because of reasons I'm not going to tell you. How's that, Sir Apology?"

"M-my name is Munchie, for your information!" His face was burning and his stomach crawled and her face swooned up into his sight, upside-down over him, orange locks of bangs spilling upon his thicker, wetter self. Her long, angular hands strapped to his ears. He didn't like this very much. At the same time, no one ever paid this much attention to him and the girl actually didn't look so scary so in the end it turned out he didn't mind all too much. He... didn't really mind. Not really. Maybe a smidgen. He was so terrible.

Finally the pause smashed open. "Well hello there Munchie. My name is Ashley, and I think this is quite a fuckpit I've stumbled into. Buuuuut it also looks like the right place."

"D-do you know where you are? What's going on now?"

"I know enough, dammit. Don't question me."

He squeaked. "Wh-why not?"

"I don't very well damn like it." She paused, as if deliberating over a heavy topic that required her fiery self to stop spouting flames like attention upon him. "I didn't think you guys would be so... mmm... what fucking word am I looking for... shit... come on..."

Munchie didn't say anything. His ears ached. Blood must be rushing for that point because he could feel the buildup of pressure, and Ashley's long fingers weren't helping the matter: in fact, he swore they must have been the source of it. It stung, it did—but he liked being noticed by her. He liked Ashley, strange as it was. She was rough and cursed a lot more than a creature should.

Maybe she was a little broken like him. She seemed a bit like it. From that point on, the munchlax immediately decided he wanted to stick with Ashley for some strange stupid ugly reason. But he did, and that would be his plan. "AHA! QUAINT! Or... mm... nice or something. I don't fucking know. It's weird. Buuuut that was to be expected, so what the hell."

"Expected?" he peeped in an echo.

"Expected," she assured him. "Ohhhh was it fuu-cking expected." As an afterthought, Munchie curiously wondered why he took the fact that this chimchar was deaf so easily. Perhaps because he liked her and wanted to befriend her. It seemed that Ashley might like him as well, and that made Munchie smile. "Wow, you have some twisted teeth." He paused. He didn't know whether to smile or not, face paling. "Nonono, keep smiling—dammit, I'm so fucking clueless, keep smiling." So... without further ado, he did. "Aaaah. That's not a bad smile ya got there. Mine's pretty fucking ugly as it is. Anyway, you're not deaf, so my words prolly sting you some—let's try not to let that get to you. We'll see." He blinked. "Good answer, Jojo."

"Munchie."

She smirked slightly, little teeth curling under a lip. "Jojo's an inside joke thing. Sorry. Forgot where I was. In the moment. All that. Dammit, Ashley, you're so fucking clueless." And because he didn't know how else he should respond, Munchie blinked. Thankfully, Ashley had more to say. Her hot breath—from the fiery spirit in her—continued to wash over his blue-and-pale face. It was a little nice, but also a little stifling. "So... where the hell are the Mystery Dungeons in this place?"

That was the first moment Munchie suddenly realized with a cold strike to his heart that he had been conversing with a complete stranger who came from a freaky dip of light and this could be really really bad and dangerous and what was he doing he was going to die. Though quickly most of the icy waves receded, Munchie had had his wake up call. Should he help the strange girl that first, didn't know Zundentun was overflowing with Mystery Dungeons and magic and she was in the single place without it, and also, had come from a strange patch of glowing light and seemed to be slightly crazy, and finally, didn't fear or feel disgusted, disturbed, annoyed, by pesky Mystery Dungeons, pesky magic, pesky mutations, and that could be a potentially hazardous combination. She was strange, putting it lightly.

"They're everywhere, actually! All over Zundentun! You... didn't... know that?" Actually, those words dislodged must faster and easier than the shaggy munchlax thought. He blinked, amazed at himself, at the starry sky above. Somehow he didn't feel disappointed at missing the grand finale for this day of his purpose in life. He should have been, Munchie could tell. Yet... simply, like a barren patch of ice: he didn't. Didn't didn't didn't.

"Oh uh..." She peered at him. "Nah, I won't lie with you I guess. You look more than a little shitty and hopeless. Like me I guess. But don't let anyone else know, or I'll fucking hurt you." He felt like she wasn't lying, and the burning truth in those words singed him. He felt it, Munchie felt it. Ashley wouldn't joke. "But that also means you're stuck with me—whatever; shitty and hopeless. I just need to explore those Mystery Dungeons. There's... fucking twisted mutated magic in those crapholes."

He blinked again. "You're... like... into science?"

"OH HELL NO! I AM NOT! DAMNED FUCKING NO." She cooled off rather quickly. He supposed Ashley wanted to make that a point. Or perhaps it was usual to use that tone of voice from wherever she came from. "That shit's just weird. I feel like there should be pokemon doing something about it and not staying holed up like ugly hermits. I know enough that your entire town is like that. And... well it's a little fucking weak. So, any way I can do that without severely fucking myself off?"

"We have this thing called a guild, Ashle—"

"AW HOW CUTE YOU SAID MY NAME—OH PLEASE CONTINUE sorry."

"S-so... you need at least one partner or else they won't let you in, because it's dangerous to go alone in there... y-you know, as you'd said sometime earlier. But they have members so... well... It's dangerous, and mutated, and crazy." Her head bobbled a monsoon of bobbles at such statement, displaying her agreement eagerly. These... mutations, magics, whatever, held a strong part of her heart. He didn't ask why, felt a little afraid to. "But they give you a place to stay... and they're all nice and buddy-buddy with you... so it sounds cool. Also... it's, um... easier to be friends with pokemon when you're with them, but you also have to look out because talking about Mystery Dungeons with other pokemon makes them... really nervous..."

Those fiery orbs, their upsides down as they hovered, suspended in her pale face before him as it breathed hot breath over his own face, lit up. "That makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever." She spat as if in anger, but her aim shook and a glob of Ashley's saliva landed on Munchie's chest. "Aw, dammit.

She didn't apologize. He didn't ask. "So... I need a partner to get into that dump. I am not going somewhere that sounds that fucking confusing and that fucking scary on my own. Weeeelllll, it seems I only have one option." Munchie didn't mean for it, but hearing those words—only one option—sprung up in him because he actually had a real-life purpose with another entity at all and it wasn't the creators in the sky that orchestrated the crafting of sunsets for him and they didn't even exist. It felt a little nice, a little warm, in his chest—no his heart—to be the only one option. Even if Ashley spoke sharply and cursed a lot. He didn't mind... too much.

He fretted one day he would forget about this first moment with her and grow angry. He knew it was possible, especially with this salty chimchar. But gone with the wind, a sudden tentacle snagged against his skin and a blast of oozing water mushed against him and suddenly Ashley wasn't holding him by the ears with those long fingers and she strung a long line of curse words as the water-typed duo nabbed Munchie and he soon found himself tumbling into that hole in the wall stuffed with bright pink and lower magenta and rough red coral, threading through a mess of hallways until he eventually realized he was lulling into near slumber, and the walls of where he was shimmered erratically with an air of impossibility shone possible.

Beach Cave—that Mystery Dungeon. That accursed, disgusting bit of magic. He'd been pulled right in by that duo of pokemon, the one with the tentacles and the other with the water gun that made him quite sure he had been nabbed by some water types, either way. Taking a glance at those bright tangelo curls with knobby, orange bumps on them, Munchie decided an octillery had to be one of his captors. That sly monster. He tried a threatening snarl and the other buddy shot back its scaled face and pressed down another beam of waters into Munchie's sopping wet blue cheeks. He burbled, "Blub!" but nothing else of interest happened. Water awkwardly snorted from his tiny nose hidden in layers of more of the blue fur. Like the jagged blocks at the end of the bluff with the best cloud-watching position, Munchie's teeth jutted out of the stream. He coughed a little awkwardly and was met with another blast of cold water.

Though he wanted to and the situation desperately called for it, he didn't dare say _ow._ These pokemon looked like they ate ows for breakfast. And everything else. Just his attempt at conversation from prior, and then his cough, had been enough to attain glances, and those were freaky enough. It began to dawn on the poor, thin munchlax that he had been pokenapped and now he was being rather forcibly dragged throughout Beach Cave, which was a Mystery Dungeon, and danger crawled under his skin and he choked. Also, pokemon—they must hate him, he recalled daintily, taking the thought as he would a frail flower—did not like Munchie, thus these pokemon... whatever they were doing, they didn't like him. Thus something bad was about to ensue upon the munchlax.

"Fucking damned bitches! Get the FUCK back here! YOU LISTENING, ASSHOLES?" He wanted to stop and contemplate on what sort of angelic, amazing, beautiful heroine would be saving him, but he couldn't imagine because he knew only one pokemon who would try to save him at all and he already recognized the curse-bitten, fiery, steamy tone, all harsh and broken-up like his teeth. Ashley, of course, had come to help save his hide. Munchie didn't know how to feel about that, but it felt nice to be remembered by her, even for a little while. Though he'd probably be remembered more often the more they... hung out.

Munchie, with a blink, saw that he would be hanging out with another creature for a time now and would thus meet others and would thus become a real pokemon and others would know him and he wouldn't be a shadow that eavesdropped all the time but again that cold stab in his heart made him want to run, until Ashley's cannibalistic screech cut his thoughts off: "FUCKING STOP MOVING YOU FAST BITCHES I HAVE SHORT DAMN LIMBS AND GET THE FUCK OVER HERE! UGH! SHIT!" She stumbled and fell. "SHITSHITSHITSHIT." She got up and kept moving, her funny-bent orange legs pattering with their large toes and her large hands pelting on the ground like she had become quadrupled. But it helped; Ashley's speed gained.

"Argh, did you hear that?" whispered the tangelo octillery, tentacles angrily squeezing Munchie's lanky body. "She ain't givin' up, ain't she."

His partner scowled with black teeth poking from those fishy limbs. What was—lumineon. A girl. His face reddened when he realized that the entire time this had been a blue-and-black-finned girl pelting by his head, not another dude. Munchie, stifling a whimper, shook his head. No one reacted to that, and the female mumbled in a rasp, "She ain't."

"Wh-whatdoyouwantfromme?" squeaked the munchlax in hopes of an answer. Thankfully, he got exactly that.

The duo's orbs traced over him. "Well," said the octillery, "my mate and I see you've been lonely for a long time, so we figured we'd toss you in here and see what happened."

"Wh-WHAT?"

"Like..." The lumineon dully blinked. "You don't do anything. At all. And all you have done is eavesdropped and listened to conversations I'd rather keep from those pointy ears of yours." A scoff. Whoops. "We figured we could wake something up in you. And... well, naaah, we didn't really think that. We just figured we could watch you prove to us that Mystery Dungeons are lethal bits of crap. So we're gonna drop you down here somewhere, and we're gonna get that stupid chimchar out of here"—though the deaf girl couldn't hear them, Ashley violently cursed just then—"aaaaaand be done with you."

He was useless. A bright warmth floated in his heart. He was useless. They understood him. But—"Wait! You're going to kill me?!"

Another dull blink from the lumineon. "Uh. Yeah. Mystery Dungeons are pretty useless. You're pretty useless. It all works out in the end." She didn't even smile at the end. It made Munchie's heart a little sadder. He would have at least liked a grin of approval. When his head darted back a ways, he didn't see Ashley any longer. Heart dropping, he supposed this was supposed to be, like, the time he'd say his prayers to arceus for the last time and lose his life or something? Because everyone but the guild understood Mystery Dungeons had to be magical and vile and dumb, he more or less accepted the fate presented in front of him: Munchie would be lost and be killed.

"You think this is far enough?" The octillery again, dull eyes—why so dull?—rounded and faced the lumineon. Probably they were the mates. Yuck. His heart clenched like teeth plowed over it and Munchie wanted to especially escape and get the heck away already by then. And... he hated to admit it, but worry curdled in his blood: where had Ashley disappeared to? Why did she just stop like that?

Maybe even she didn't like him. Munchie was used to the idea already as the lumineon's fishy blue lips turned and she blinked—again. "Sure, why not. That'll keep him out, finally." Her purple—easier to see with them so close—orbs, though dull, descended upon him. "And if you'd said one word about that affair my sister had that you heard about"—his face blushed; yes, that was one of the things he'd heard from that girl, family, really—"then I swear this is why we're putting you here now. So you don—"

"Did I just hear the word affair? Wow, I thought you fuckers were all dainty little dandelions or something." Ashley casually strolled into the small corridor, soon met by a flurry of bubbles and water and a torrent of waves. When the blue debris sifted, the chimchar sat in a bruised lump that told the munchlax she wouldn't get up soon. Unconscious. He'd be like that too, then they both would die. A lump socked him in the throat and his eyes welled: guilt.

He basically just killed an innocent chimchar who actually liked him. Well, maybe not innocent, judging by the profusely used swearwords, but good enough for him. He didn't care. He wasn't picky, now that someone cared—really cared. And what did he do with that life? Right, he stopped it. That last thought really did him in, and without he help of anyone, the munchlax sunk to the ground and his head hit the coral floor with a _donk-!_ It didn't hurt, though, especially with the layers of blue and pale fur watching over him: his heart ached. What did he do? Why did he do it? Wave upon wave upon tidal wave of shame, roiling inside of him, crashing down on him, everywhere. Leaking into him from the water oozing off of Ashley's doused figure.

"Is he gonna do anything else at all?" He bet that stupid lumineon dully blinked as she questioned it.

And that stupid mate probably tensed his tentacles as usual. He knew their aspects. He was a little scary like that—but Ashley... she didn't find him scary and didn't mind talking to him and it was nice. "I... I don't think he's gonna do anything else. Well whatever. Now you can stop worrying about him telling someone about your sister's affair." The first thing he was gonna do if he escaped would be tell Ashley the affair. Just to show them. Just to show them. His heart kept throbbing, aching, churning, like something had socked him just... just right there. It hurt, alright. It hurt bad, like he was a disease but the disease came from inside of him. "Okay, let's just get out of here. This is incredibly boring, watching other pokemon die. Come on, babe." Yep, they were the mates.

He didn't listen for their water tentacles and fins and whatnot as they flitted off, but his ears caught them of course. Sometimes Munchie felt like he heard too much—like just then the duo had kissed and now he felt even more sick. He... should do something, instead of sitting here and letting those pokemon take off: Munchie always knew he didn't fit in, but letting him be plopped out here to plain die felt... wrong. In a way. Though what did he know about wrong—Munchie did happen to be that disease with no friends and no wanting to talk to a soul, until his accidental affliction with the chimchar hunched in a corner, her orange-smudged silhouette shivering in subconsciousness. She wasn't dead, not yet. The genius thought suddenly struck Munchie that he should try to take Ashley, warm her with his fur, and then he could carry her out of the Mystery Dungeon and they could live: more importantly, she could live and she could do that guild thing she wanted to do and he'd help her. He could see that little body shaking, and it reminded him of the curse words that casually flew out of her mouth. Anyone could tell that Ashley was different, but not even he saw how. Only that fact glistened alone. He'd like to let Ashley trust him, in the least.

A hand reached out for the orange smudge, dark and fluffy and blue. Come on, he consoled himself mentally in preparation for the moment, do this. "It's easy," he whispered, "to reach out to her. So why don't you?" The words echoed, the slight husk in his gentler tone bouncing and thus cracked by the end. "C-come on..." The hand didn't inch onward with pride; the hand didn't inch onward at all. "M-mun—Munchie! Pull yourself together and help this girl! You can do this!" Slowly, as his voice rose, that helpful fact that Ashley was deaf and therefore wouldn't be disturbed by his shouting revealed itself. "Help her already, you idiot! She's right—right—there!" This had to be the most pathetic thing Munchie had ever done in his entire life, even trumping the fact of his birth, being a skinny munchlax. This—here: he couldn't even assist the shivering little girl. It mattered not if he wanted to help her at all: this fact that he couldn't bring himself to.

The hand, lying there, felt slogged and heavy and dull and stupid and why should he help Ashley he can't help anyone he's just a stupid disease! The will didn't muster in Munchie's soul like it should have. The will to... anything. So there his hand lay, unmoving, as much as his heart yearned to inch it closer and touch Ashley's face and try to warm her. As much as he wanted to, he didn't. And more, because he absolutely positively didn't. Simple word. Socked him in the gut. He'd been hit there by emotions a lot that evening. Made him wonder if anything else would sock him as well, or just the feelings. Probably someone else, just his luck, would step on him in the Mystery Dun—

A pokemon.

The shadow spilled across his lone self lying there so pathetically and weakly. Protect Ashley, his mind screamed, protect Ashley. Yet stupid Munchie couldn't get himself to move anymore than he could his hand: less, since the rest of him didn't move at all. It was a small, coral-like thing—corsola—and it stepped closer, somewhat floated, moved was all: moved. Closer. To kill him. To kill Ashley—more emotion flooded him. This here... was this murder? Was he not killing Ashley right then as well? It didn't matter if he died, he was pretty useless; but this here? Wasn't he killing the poor little chimchar with the big hands and feet? Wasn't he killing her by not helping? H-he tried! He tried and tried and tried to muster it in him, but he ultimately fell. He'd given. He'd caved. He couldn't. He failed. Ashley would die because of him, right now. The pink thing lumbered onward, its dizzying mess of green eyes staring down upon him as if disapproving him. Though who could blame the corsola—he disapproved himself, honestly. His eyes, still drowning in tears yet to be shed, stiffly blinked. Nothing had come out yet. It hurt in his heart, what he had done, what was going to be done. Why couldn't he just reach over there and help her? Why?

Squirming in his heart, doing nothing but being still like a statue in the flesh, Munchie felt those tears strike down on him as the corsola hastily wobbled over him to peer at the chimchar from behind. From that moment, time began to skip and he dizzily lost sight of his surroundings but saw more pink lights flashing in front of him. Time passed, definitely, but he didn't know how long it had been or what was going on or anything, and he and Ashley just sat there. However time passed in those forsaken Mystery Dungeons, he still didn't feel hunger gnawing at them—but would Ashley? She still sat in a deformed, orange blob of unconscious chimchar. He should reach out to her—did he?—he didn't. The tears wanted to overflow again. With nothing else, the munchlax stuffed them. Hid them away.

The thought casually leaked unto his brain: what would Ashley think of this situation? Would she be... angry at him? He choked at the thought. Probably. He wouldn't get angry the other way around, and he hated that emotion—hated it, feared it—but he knew he deserved it.

As Munchie began to regain his bearings, the pink lights stopped flashing and he noticed that the area wrapped about him was swarmed with little water pokemon... and they didn't attack, but stared with identically complex green orbs. And they sniffed. One had his arm and its nose was stuffed into that arm and it really seemed to find the smell of his arm rather enticing. A small clump of them waddled around Ashley's orange smudge, cautiously, then casually, one by one, sniffing her and growing attached to some bit of her or another. Guilt wedged into his gut. Here they were, being sniffed by what had to be Mystery Dungeon pokemon, with those glowing green eyes and inability to do anything—turns out they didn't fight whatsoever. Still Munchie couldn't find it in him to do anything: pathetic munchlax. He felt if she had been tossed further in the Beach Cave he would have gone over and assisted her, but the majority of him hastily argued the same would be going on as now. And now involved corsolas sniffing their fur and him failing. The dusky-furred boy sighed angrily.

Another shadow.

Another pokemon.

His eyes darted for the brown creature stepping back and his beady eyes, which widened, upon sight. "See, I tried to tell the others that Spirit was smart when he made this guild!" the male chortled, seeming relieved and prideful, with his caramel brown chest puffed out proudly. The rest of his body was coated in a slightly darker shade of the caramel, except for his big, black-brown tail with the weird patterns and a small area coating his face, his buck-toothed mouth in the middle. "Why, spangle my lucky stars! Who the foo are you guys?" A little jovial, with a deep, laughable tone. Munchie immediately liked this guy. A bibarel, by the looks of it. "Well... mm. You're not respondin'. Prolly do us more good if I just scooped the both of you up and took you back to the guild, see what Spirit thinks of you. He's good with anomalies. This has to be an anomaly, if I've ever seen one—and I've seen more than I'd like to thanks to that nutcase." Casually, excessively casually, the bibarel used his massive, brown-furred arms to shoo off the corsola cluster and scoop the wet and shivering Munchie and Ashley with each arm. "You guys look like a mess! Geeee—eeez!

"I think you're listening, munchlax, so I'll let you know my name is Byrender, and I'm one of the members of something called Spirit Bright, which is a pretty cheesy name for Spirit's guild, but he likes it, so we put up with it. He's kinda funky, and that's okay I guess. I don't know how long you poor things've been stuck here, but I'll surely get you out right now." And that he did, feet pattering slowly and methodically—casually, Munchie commented—through the winding corridors that shined like stars, the magic coral of the magic Mystery Dungeon evident.

Byrender the bibarel, carrying the thin munchlax and chubby chimchar, which he found quite easy since neither were that big for their size, though the chimchar did have that pudgy thing, continued casually talking at the munchlax, and he didn't respond much, just awkwardly stared at the ground. Munchie's face burned with the thoughts locked in his skull, especially the ones about how he should have done something to help Ashley. Guilt felt awful, putrid, disgusting, lodged up in there, and it had no way to be removed and he kept feeling dumb and lousy and like a disease. But it... wasn't too bad, he supposed. Byrender seemed cool and Ashley liked him at least a little.

Well this day had sprung out of orbit: already he had Ashley and he had Byrender. Said head began to ache. Then he recalled that those stupid Mystery Dungeons, like the sun and the moon, were magic, and therefore they may have been in there for longer than one single little measly day. His eyes darted over and, surprisingly, landed on open, fiery eyes. Munchie didn't know what to say. Ashley had awoken and she still had sopping fur that he should have helped her with and she'll be mad at him for it, won't she. "Aaaaaaahhh... I'm fucking tired. What the hell happened aga—oohh. Oh yeah. Munchie, you got tossed in here by those bitch pokemon and I came after you—duh—and we were GONNA go and become part of that one fucking guild but then THE STUPID-ASS POKEMON CAPTURED YOU DAMMIT. Oh it looks like we're both safe now, okay. That's new. Interesting." She sighted the caramel paw uplifting her body and growled suddenly. "Why the fuck is this hand on my—"

"A-Ashley! Be nice! Byrender's helping us! He's part of the guild!"

"Wait what the fuck Byrender."

"Heelooooooo, tiny child~"

"I am NOT A FUCKING CHILD YOU LEARN YOUR MANNERS MISTER!"

"Okay someone needs to douse the attitude."

Ashley smirked. "I am doused. I am covered, in fucking, water."

"Yes I see missy." Her face bunched together and her fiery orbs found delight in glancing at Munchie momentarily after she stopped reading Byrender's lips for a quick flash of a second. Then the flaming orbs darted back up and her own lips moved slightly as she read and translated the bibarel's bucked speak for her own deaf ears to hear on their own. "Okay then. I dunno what the heck to think of this duo, but you both have matching wet fur and smell like the magic in those Mystery Dungeon pokemon, so I guess it's a little cute."

Ashley spat at that, pelting Byrender's toe. "Oh whoops sorry dammit."

He just... shrugged. Munchie sighed at the sudden airy attitude the bibarel had adapted to. "Eh. It's fine. I got real used to a lot of things when I came onto Spirit Bright—that's the guild I guess I'll be taking you to, then. Spirit himself is pretty interesting of a guy. You get used to it, if you'll be with us. But not if you're Jordan. Oh, not Jordan. Sometimes I really hope she doesn't slice off that guy's head, though I don't think she has it in her. Not—no, she does. She can get angry sometimes." Ashley nodded delightfully at that. Munchie liked watching her expression morph as Byrender continued talking in his pattered and deep tone, laughable and warm in its own way. "But I think between me and Drynt and even Mystic sometimes, between all of us—and Chindu too, right—we keep Jordan from attacking Spirit."

"Is there anyone else in your guild thingy?" Those fiery orbs really lit up just imagining all the possibilities.

"Nope!" returned Byrender cheerily. "Spirit's our leader, and Chindu's kind of like the next-in-command, but sometimes it's hard to tell since..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Y'know, he's Spirit's boyfriend..." Then it returned to cheery banter. "But anyways! After that, there's me. I've been here the longest. And Jordan showed up some time ago too... Mystic's kind of young and new, and Drynt's gotta be our newest though. He's cool. I like him. Drrriiiiiiiinnnnt~"

Munchie wanted to ask a question about these friends of Byrender's, though at the same time he didn't think he could cope beneath their full attention... a-all for him... but suddenly Ashley's fire orbs were by his side so he had to take a chance. "Um... what kind of pokemon are your friends?" Somehow, even though he expected this possibility least: his question... worked. It worked. Like, how questions work, and Byrender—he even responded to it.

"Weeell... Spirit's a weirdly-colored wigglytuff. He's... white, but his ears and tail are orange. So there's that. And Jordan, she's a gallade—long, long, painful parent-hater story—and Mystic's a mudkip, princess of one of the kingdoms out there with all the Mystery Dungeons, and... Drynt's an elgyem. And, oh! Chindu's a chatot. How's that work for you?"

He blinked slowly. How would this information sit well..? Those pokemon... all... he shook himself. "U-h... th-tha..that's... n-n-n...nice..." From then on, Munchie decided to never ask Byrender an embarrassing personal question for this guy had no shame and would gallantly explain everything without thinking about it and Munchie feared that idea profusely. He did like Byrender, but embarrassing questions have those parts that must be carefully cut around so that nothing gets too... uncomfortable, with lack of easier wording. He squeaked at the thought. Already, he's admitted it: he liked Byrender and he liked Ashley.

Ashley, his apparent new partner to be stuck with him as they would wander into other Mystery Dungeons, just like this one, and he would have to find his will, and his courage, and other important, abstract ideas that he doubted he could pull off—glimpsed over at him just a little warmly other than the flames already in her eye. Munchie felt slightly confident she liked him. A great first step in comparison to no one whatsoever in his brain at all. Then there was Byrender, whose huge, fluffy, caramel arms held him and her. Byrender seemed chill and cozy enough, and there was also that tiny little miniscule unimportant detail that you know _he didn't hate Munchie._ Already a duo. Ashley and Byrender. He kept repeating that single notion because he felt like he would randomly wake up to nobody again. Ashley, though, seemed like a character his poor, innocent mind wouldn't be able to make up on its own. He'd never heard a soul curse as many times in its life as her in one sentence. Freaky, but... she seemed to... keep to herself, yet she liked Munchie. It meant something to him, either way. And meaning something to someone whose sole purpose was staring at the sunset meant something—a big something.

Eventually the munchlax with the dull-but-ringed-in-frail-hope eyes stared up around him and found that the Mystery Dungeon had faded as it had come, and after a shorter line in a matter of navigation and momentum, the bibarel with the humungous, chocolate-brown feet led his new friends—he had to be Byrender's friend after what he had been rescued from, him and Ashley, shivering at the memory and the guilt—by arm to the light again, the light of midday that meant he and Ashley had been there for at least a day, probably more, if he guessed correctly enough. The wear of that fated night when the waterlogged chimchar slapped upon him in the sand had already faded to nothing. He couldn't stick an estimate into how much time had passed, but it had been enough. Too much. Already his original sole purpose in life, to watch the sunset every night, had been broken.

Then Ashley's gaze fell upon him and he shrugged. Yeah, but Ashley already tore in there. He may as well roll with it. It seemed there was no other direction to go as it was, and it... honestly, felt like a ray of sunshine had revealed him now that the crazy chimchar had popped out of nowhere and claimed him to be her partner for the guild—the guild. He was going back into those Mystery Dungeons now, over and over again. Munchie shook himself because any other path didn't exist. Washed away like Ashley's chubby and long-fingered and -footed impressions in the sands, as what could have possibly been her first encounter with Zundentun at all. He only knew for sure with strong confidence that the ray of light zapping her into his world had to be surreal. Freaky. Different. New. Bad?

Well, it couldn't really be bad since it did gift him a character that would actually enjoy his presence in the universe and not pitch him into the dreaded Beach Cave of all places—which turned out much nicer than predicted—just because he eavesdropped constantly since he had no friends and no self-esteem. The thoughts rattled like a storm in his head as Byrender continued his enjoyable stroll, whistling through his buck teeth jovially and swinging his arms like a chimchar and a thin munchlax didn't collapse in there currently with their not-so-wet bodies still slightly shaking and shivering. His thick feet calmly stomped, stomped, stomped until crawling unto the presence of that final turn of Treasure Town, where it looped a hard left and eventually rose up a stacking, rising, massive slope to a hill with a massive view that stretched to the middle of Treasure Town—then all of it, as it rose a hill in the back of the midst of its clustered joys—and beyond, until the world hazed and one couldn't see the sun very well and some areas filled the sky with colors that weren't blue. And Mystery Dungeons, they dominated. He then focused his eyes through the foggy haze, hoping to gain a glimpse of that kingdom Mystic lived in and of course gaining no such view.

Byrender's pouf of a head turned and, with his body, faced that entrance to the pitifully small tent with admittedly pretty, white flaps and flowery orange edges, the top with a cap huge enough to swallow that tent by its head, white with cloudy green eyes and pointy floppy ears and a silly grin that stretched to the edges of the face. Spirit, had to be. Those ears were tinged in orange, and the face a powdery white, not like a too-lazy-to-paint because that paint job shined giddily in midday lighting, the sun casually looping from above, showering yellow where Mystery Dungeons didn't permeate and destruct its yellow or its sky's eggshell blue. Not many splotches, but not a tiny number either. These Mystery Dungeons in question, of course, the sly houndooms, stretched as far as the eye could see, and certainly farther than that as well. Zundentun wasn't small by any means. He'd heard Warldo happened to be a tiny chink of island in the least: this huge thing, not so much. Plus the Mystery Dungeons eroded to the water, so no one could really even tell where Zundentun ended anymore. Too much Mystery Dungeons. No way to hide. Only that hermit hole of Treasure Town where most pokemon—or was it most, if an entire kingdom actually did lie in those murky depths?—spent their days. Then again; or did most pokemon?

With gentle ease, Byrender bent his head and entered the tent easily, as if he'd done this multiple times—probably had—over a netting wire of brown sticks in a hole in front of the tent and traipsing down a creaky old ladder that swayed with every step, and it didn't help that both of his arms were tied with little pokemon he carried easily even if they did happen to be just half his size apiece, and that chimchar didn't have a small belly. An unruly _THUNK_ echoed in the now-vast chambers of real grass on the ground and real windows with sunshine as he entered the first—first bottom?—floor where a mess of map-work and green colors lied. Like... green marking utensils. Munchie blinked blearily at the designs and maps, then Byrender had already ducked down another ladder and with another unruly _THUNK_ landed on his feet on another floor with grass and windows cut into the sides of the hill.

"I'm hoooooommeee!" he cried merrily. Munchie deliberated it actually was the pouf of a pokemon's home so that must be casual enough. Sure and fast, a flurry of creatures spilled out into the small clearing of grasses from a variety of different rooms, the final doors just behind their crew—a white with orange highlights—pouring open and allowing a fluffy, white-furred with orange-tips creature to waltz in, a red-faced bird, his black feathers blushing angrily and back ranged with other rainbow feather colors, stuttered behind.

"Hey guys, check out these newbies I found! They wanna join!"

Ashley angrily scrabbled out of Byrender's caramel arm and dropped to the side, not before latching onto one of Munchie's pale feet and forcing him down as well. The duo sat in a hodgepodge of a heap at the bottom of their savior's feet. "Damn. What the fuck do we got here, my friend?" One of her feet slipped over an ear and he squeaked "ow" which she accompanied with "dammit sorry."

"So now we have more pokemon joining us?" A long-stretched line of elegant words filled by dark edges leaped out. The girl with the wispy white face and tall, bipedal stance had spoken. Jordan—right? The... female gallade? Admittedly easy to tell—as it had been with Ashley. Munchie's face burned already.

A squeakier though definitely also female tone rang out after: "Oh, joy, Jordan, they're so cute and small like me! Even if the chimchar iiiiis kinda pudgy. And the munchlax iiiiiiis kinda skinny." Mystic. Yeah. The mudkip princess thingy.

"Drriiiii-iiiiinnt! Whaddaya think!" Byrender again.

A sniff. This new voice, a little cold, a little stoic, a little emotional, rattled. "They'll be okay, I suppose. Time we got some new blood in this dump."

"MIND WHAT YOU'RE CALLING A DUMP PLEASE THANKS." A puffy bundle of large—though not as large as Byrender—white fur slammed into the green thing floating in the air beside him. Drynt. Spirit. But the attack seemed more... playful. Somewhat. These pokemon knew each other. Munchie could feel it in the air circulating about him. "So anyways, what do we haave here. Chimpy chimchar, what's your name?"

Ashley's face, currently shoved into Munchie's chest in their awkward position, knew nothing of the fact that she had been called. "U-um, sorry, sir, she's deaf... she didn't hear you..." Ashley, though, did read the words her new partner spoke and jumped out of his rumpled figure, leaving him on the ground and her large feet piled unto the grass, knees... still bent. Still shaggy and all funky. Weird chimchar, he decided slightly.

"I'm Ashley. The best fucker you'll ever meet, duh. My sole purpose is to drag myself and Munchie into this lively crew and do cool shit that you do because it's all I can!" Still he felt like Ashley covered hidden words, though she didn't and if she did hit it perfectly, just sounding happy and excited. The munchlax had regrettably eavesdropped way too many times in his life. Using a finger, she gestured at the sadistic lump on the ground still. "Munchie, get the hell up please."

So he did, skinny, shaggy blue pelt up for all to see. Jordan stood slightly taller than Byrender, he saw, who had taken a place beside her. She had long, long turquoise hair—straight and long—waving in a slight breeze about her, and these bangs that practically covered her eyes so he could hardly even tell what color they could be. Her upper-body was green, and scythe-like limbs crossed over her stomach, and above that was the spike protruding through her chest, like a normal dude gallade, but not quite. And she had the white legs. Looked... nearly normal. Sort of. "So you're Munchie," she stated calmly, quietly.

Beside her were the chatot and the mudkip, each a bit riled and the black-feathered chatot with the line of a fan flowing from his head and rainbow feathers, downed by white, the fluttery red toes and pinched beak—he kept on pacing and muttering something until he shook himself and blinked, speaking in a melodic and stuttered tone. "I-I wasn't doing what you bozos are thinking," were the first words Munchie ever heard in that pretty voice. He blinked. "A-anyways! I'm Chindu, next-in-command after Spirit."

"And you love him verrrrrry much~" said the mudkip next to him, her blue-finned face twitching with a grin.

"Mystic!" he squabbled. "Do you have to?"

"Yes, of course! You always say 'Honesty is the best policy~!'"

"But they don't need to outright know tha—"

"Ohhhhh, I get it, so they're like fucking gay. Huh."

"ASHLEY!" Munchie cried.

In the midst of the arguments, Drynt's gem-like green eyes silently slid shut and he floated in such position with his multicolored fingers poised and stubby green toes crossed in such way to suggest... meditation. As all of his friends argued. He didn't know what to think any longer and his head started aching a little. As well, the wigglytuff leader guy—Spirit—has flounced up to Ashley, and with his thick, fluffy white hand on her orange-haired head, stated calmly, "Yep, I'm gay."

That shut everyone up quite easily.

"Soooo. Yeah. We're all pretty cranky and tired and done with right now, as you can tell~ My name... is Spirit, don't forget it—kinda rhymes, eh? So you guys look tired, and I know us guys are tired, after our little expedition prior and Byrender got all lost and it was funny, so why don't we all start getting situated after everyone takes a very long nap?"

That was quite the opening. Munchie didn't know what to say, the names and looks of pokemon rattling and shifting and simply—losing—in his head. "We have different tunnels for everyone made so they can get all their rest, and then I've got mine and Chindu's room"—the chatot blushed angrily and stuttered more at that—"and... we have one guest room. We're not used to guests. So... uh... if you don't mind staying in there together until we can sort junk out—then that's be all fine and dandy. Anyone disagree?"

Blinking slowly, tiredness descending upon the duo like a wave, Munchie didn't really intake the words splayed on top of them that he'd be in the same room as Ashley for a night, but the chimchar, who was forced to decipher every word or would lose it, didn't care and shrugged idly. Munchie seemed like her only friend as it was, and he didn't seem to be a bad guy. By the end of the saunter for sleep, the others had already dispersed and Munchie was left in a cool, dirt-smoothed tunnel with the chimchar he'd struggled to give warmth to in the Mystery Dungeon and failed.

Of course, sleeping beside her ailed him so he grasped a small bundle of hay and stuffed it to another edge of the tunnel, quickly avoiding her entire warm fiery soul.

Guilt edged Munchie as he passed into a dark void of sleep, drool already trickling down a corner of his lip.

 **YES I FINISHED I AM TIRED**

 **Ashley: just curious why the hell are you always complaining about being tired in your author notes.**

 **Me: …I seem to usually end up doing something busy and tiring in my life right before finishing a chapter. Which will proollly be what my Thursday is like too, gwah. So... I am going on this trip to another place for like two weeks and plan to have chapter two done before then and two chapters done on each of the two days it takes to get to the place then from, so you won't hear from me but you can promise Ashley is digesting brain cells.**

 **Munchie: A-ah... Ashleeyyy...**

 **Me: And Munchie is trying to chastise her.**

 **Anyway, without further adooooo~ Thank you reader for making it through this gigantic first chapter, and be aware all chapters are this gigantic. :3 But you got this bruh. Also Ashley curses a lot. Just pointing that out there.**

 **Ashley: If you're so fucking blind you couldn't tell. Or deaf. Like me. DEAF BUDDIES OH FUCK YES**


	2. A Scramble For Recognition

**Me: Yaaay! You've gotten to chapter two!**

 **Ashley: damn right we should have a party anyone made it to chapter tw-**

 **Me: ewe -slaps her face head-on-**

 **Munchie: I dunno, I think it's nice. :3**

 **Ashley: DAMMIT MUNCHIE STOP BEING SO UNREALISTICALLY KIND**

 **Me: he is using the power of the unrealistically kind vested in him geez Ashley**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Two: A Scramble for Recognition

The unruly scraping of long, thin, slightly-bent fingernails on dirt flooring slightly lined by bits of rock woke Munchie into life again, and out of the black portal crudely labeled sleep. He snorted, rubbed his ears, and quietly wondered why he wasn't in his cave in Sharpedo Bluff that was a much lighter, dustier brown and why did he hear scraping fingernails at all. Munchie didn't have friends, ri—

"Aw shit sorry I woke you didn't I."

Nope, he had friends. Factual evidence slammed hard into his side at the use of the curse word. The munchlax himself doubted he'd ever work up the nerve to swear like the salty sailor Ashley had to have inside of her, and thus it was evident hearing those words fall out of the orange smudge of a primate herself aggravated that sore spot. His crooked, white teeth stuck up and he chewed his lip the slightest, thoughtful. Could there be a way to wash this girl of her crude voice and outspoken ways? He... didn't like the idea of coming too close to her though. Also guilt trickled down his throat; Munchie needed to learn how to flush out that arid taste and... be courageous. Brave. Do something for once, pathetic munchlax creature thing that's painfully skinnier than usual.

As his eyes, cracked and dark, still rimmed with hope that had begun to flutter, it seemed, peeled open and emptied into flaming orbs that burnt straight through to him since the moment of waking, Munchie remembered that the girl—lady—had asked him a question—how rude it would be to go without answering her. "I... yes, you did. It's okay, Ashley."

Immediately she bounded to the next topic of interest, pudgy frame still lying haphazard on the ground but eyes flickering brightly as if flames would leap out any second. Munchie tried to scoot back, but his head bumbled into the tunnel's smooth, soft edges: only emotional pain would be in him as of yet. "Why the hell did you grab a tiny handful of fucking straw and meander off to yourself? The fuck, man?" He... should have expected that. Munchie blinked. Yeah, he expected that.

Why Ashley seemed to discontent at missing a chance to sleep beside him, Munchie couldn't tell. So... he could rub off on her? So she felt warmer—safer? Because she wanted to have him near her? Oh, geez, his head spun, that last one was a mistake. He crossed the line. Munchie—had crossed—the line. Blearily, angular ears the color of the night sky outside flopping rather horrendously, Munchie shook himself. His crooked teeth slid under his lip, all but the ones on the edges that always jutted, no matter how hard the struggle he put up. Then he lost his thread of an answer to the flaming question and his hands picked at the pale circle puffed on his chest, feeling shame heat up in him. Munchie coughed slightly, awkwardly: the awkward levels bounced off the walls. "Be-because... I... um..." Because it was weird? Because he wasn't used to that? Because he'd never had friends prior and didn't know how to do anything right? He'd use that last one but that melting-lava stare seemed to ask more. But, shrugging, mulling it over, Munchie had nothing else. "I never had friends until I met you. I'm an awkward, bumbling idiot."

"Awwww, you poor thiiiingg! My life was hell, but oh my fuck. At least I've had friends and family to pick on and keep my spirits damned alrighty. That shit must be locked all up in you! Oh but as we're letting out random secrets, just know if you think your life has gone to hell now, this isn't even the start of it. You've joined Ashley."

 _You've joined Ashley._ Those words made him piteously pule and then sob some on the inside. The pule, though—she all right and dandy heard that part. And there came the sludge of guilt building up in him still, about Beach Cave: Munchie had a problem with letting emotional things like that go. He didn't have any real possessions to hang onto—and this had to be the first creature that had reached out to him. Or, well, sat on him, to be completely specific, but he found the words closely suited enough. And still... it caught tight up in his chest, and Munchie could hardly believe he'd come to this situation at all and wanted to burst out in spontaneous laughter—painful laughter—at the thought that he'd have even more to endure. As Ashley said—and he quoted wholly, because he liked her, and not because he liked cursing because he hated cursing and just did this for her words were complete with it— _if you think your life has gone to hell now, this isn't even the start of it._ Oddly, Munchie looked forward to the change of pace.

Would it be more eventful and terrifying and fur-wetting than trying to escape the cutting edges of jubilee in Treasure Town? Probably not. Guilt weighed him down—oh, right, but there was that of course. Any other emotions feel like joining ol' Guilt? Yes, Munchie deliberated. Yes. He felt that Joy had crawled up some hole and smothered his heart. Pretty sure that would show up again. Anger as well at Ashley's rash actions and altogether temerity, then collided with what could be slight idiocy, and her secrecy as well, only spilling the edges of corners for the munchlax to glean: yes, one day, one day, that would spill and it just might flame into anger. He hoped it wouldn't happen—he did a lot more hoping now too—but he felt like those fires on the deaf chimchar's bum would see end to it. End to awkward silence and no anger. He'd snap eventually. Munchie felt proud of himself for figuring this out much earlier than it would come.

Pride. There's a new one. He blinked dully at that, didn't quite know how to respond. Also that feeling—the inability to tell what _now_ should be in his heart. Emotions ran around like miniature baby Ashley creatures by now. Already she'd cracked open his soul: if more was to come... he couldn't imagine what must be riding around in that crazy orange smudge's mind. And that scared him a little bit, staring at the girl who'd slept—oh geez—in the same room as him, almost on the—oh dang—same bedding as him, which alone felt too much to keep from spilling from his brain out his ears. Brain fluids would spill out of your ears, right? Either way, this girl... already he was at an astounding, numbing loss to the skyrocket of feelings surging on the inside. And oh, did it pound in his head like a mallet.

Yeah, he was in for a ride. Ashley had to be right. He trusted her enough—maybe even a little too much. He didn't have trust issues with coping with others, just knowing when to stop. A little like... who was it... Byrender. The bibarel whose buck-toothed mouth flowed freely. Munchie felt slightly like that in trust—but not that much all the same. Speaking of in for a ride, he soon noticed the long, pale hand clawed to his arm and tugging freely. "Come on, mooooooooove! I'm fucking bored in here!"

"Aren't we supposed to be resting right now? Like how Spirit asked?" idly wondered Munchie aloud.

Whether or not she heard him, Ashley didn't say. She probably did; the only sounds emitting in the darkened chambers were her screeching and her tugging on his scruffy pelt and arm especially. And that darn did a number. Munchie's teeth scrawled like needles from his lower lip and fanned out as he chewed fretfully and lost his footing, by then the chimchar with the odd jump and slump in step freely dragging with a charm in her step. The ragged-furred though layered creature, the target of her dragging, snorted worriedly. Then he recalled that this chimchar was deaf and probably had no idea what a racket she was starting up, or that Munchie had tried to lightly warn her of what could be coming, so therefore she had no idea what could be about to ensue upon her. In an attempt to fix the chaos before it began, Munchie started in her grasp and scrambled back from it, but he didn't go anywhere and the chimchar kept dragging without turning. He realized with sudden genius he could spit upon her orange head and garner attention if the need be. And it seemed that the need be.

The hesitation came dense, like a fog. But should he? How rude would it be to spit on a girl? A lady? An Ashley? That caused him to stop and think: are an Ashley and a lady the same thing? Well... they probably are. How rude would it be to spit like that? Very. Duh. It would garner attention, but... so close... so far... h-he couldn't spit on the dear girl. Nope. Though... the ground didn't hurt to be dragged on, so he could easily think: thanks to those layers of dusk blue fur. His only plan unto garnering said attention would be to spit on Ashley, though he didn't really like that thought. Sure, Ashley had spat on both himself and Byrender, but both times she'd meant just to spit and it was an accident not a fully-fledged plan to tick someone off or, like, garner their attention. What choice did he have, though?

Suddenly Munchie recalled the arm lying strangled to his other side and rose it in order to tap the chimchar and stop her madness. But again, his fingers hovered: couldn't work, couldn't stop, couldn't touch the chimchar and get her to stop. Munchie decided tastelessly he needed to work on this life skill at some point: this, here, this had to be failure. Pure, empty, disgusting failure. And the poor deaf didn't even know what loudness she might be causing. She quickly burst his bubble with "Wow Munchie you're fucking heavy for someone weak and dumb like me," dropped the entire arm, which came flooding back through recovery of actually feeling with the dusk thing, and faced the holy wooden door in front of her with the painted white surface and orange highlights over cusps and edges.

Bad, screamed Munchie's mind. This entire idea should be trashed right now. "Uh, Munchie? What the hell is with your face? And why to you keep, just, sitting there? You gonna get up or what? I need to ask Spirit if we can all get up and do something now because I'm really fucking bored."

Here it comes, he winced. "Pleasedon't."

A blink. Those flaming orbs surmounted him, tried to understand him, be him. "What. Oh. You spoke a little fast okay." Another blink. "Why the hell not?"

Nothing else floated at the top of his brain, so Munchie just repeated that idle little statement from prior. "Aren't we supposed to be resting now? Like how Spirit asked?" Those words sat, sifted, left there, divulged by the chimchar in front of the soft, husk-of-a-cusp voice. It took a moment, but as the silence stretched, a sudden epiphany struck the midnight blue munchlax and he nigh jumped in glee at the fact that the girl with the fire hair was actually considering his request in the first place. She might even agree with him, then they could head on back to that guest tunnel and sleep away until Spirit found the time suitable to waken them for real and have everyone do whatever this guild was supposed to do. Hopefully with food; he was starting to run a little low, as his stomach growled accordingly. Still the moments stretched. Munchie felt like a real friend.

"Yeah, but... like... Dammit, I'm done sleeping." Such a long, coordinated thought process, and it led her to that sort of an answer. Admittedly, Munchie had expected and awaited the curse in the middle of it, but... she just didn't care? So lax about it? Munchie gnawed angrily, frustrated, at his blue upper-lip, like he could count on it to shed off a light with an answer and teach that darned fire thing some manners—or something. Something at all? Any courtesy? Munchie wasn't even sure it was possible for him to lose himself to more rest, but he did this anyways for Spirit, because he didn't want to rudely intrude like Ashley apparently did. Why did she do this?

Dumbfounded, Munchie fell back to the grassy earth of the underground hill below with a _thwack,_ staring at the chimchar on her hands and toes still elongated and pale and confusing, those fingers probably leaving ugly marks on his ears after the stretch of time in that disgusting Beach Cave place he'd rather avoid crossing again. Sniffing, staring up at her hulking, chubby figure with the flame spewing as a tail, Munchie quickly detected the heavy tang of dirt arid on the top of his mouth, wet, and dry, and musty, and earthy, and... _dirty. Like dirt._ Of course it smelled like dirt but with those extra scents of incense-covered Drynt, the floating elgyem, and Byrender's wet and fluffy... smell, and how Jordan smelled sharp like a battle kept coming, and Chindu's scent betrayed soft, fluffy flowery whispers and then Spirit sort of smelled like that but also the intoxicating overdose of what had to be big, plump apples from trees. And then that musty, wet—muddy—tang shifting up his nose covered by layers of wave-blue fur then.

Ashley calmly _thwacked_ to the ground beside her single trustworthy buddy. It was sad, but Munchie particularly grew fond of the thought that he may be her only confidant—the only entity in the entire universe right then that she could toss all of her worries onto. At least, more than everyone else he knew at the time. Unless suddenly Ashley had become one of the oh so buddy-buddy creatures in the guild already. Please, no. "Hey, don't look so fucking sullen please." A sudden pale hand flashed like a ghost by his side. Did the munchlax have enough time, he would have shuddered, but the pinch on his cheek came and left so quickly it left him breathless and spilled out on the grassy, earthen-smelling atmosphere. At least, he deliberated, the chimchar wasn't tempted to bust open Spirit's door and demand something to take away her boredom. That had to be worst-case scenario. A pinch on the cheek and bumbling into the ground was not worse-case scenario, thank the heavens.

The muddy smell reappeared, as did a blue face finned and framed in shimmering sapphire. Her cheeks, of course, spiked with orange, and a strange, lighter blue fin stuck up and shadowed an eye, but still mostly blue. The rest of the princess's—he had to get over the fact that there apparently was a kingdom in the Mystery-Dungeon-laden world out there—stubby body protruded in lighter blue fins and the ocean blue—a calming, bright one, even in the fuzz of dark slightly cupped by Ashley's tail—all shimmering throughout her. Those liquid golden orbs nearly looked out of place. "Oh, hey newfangled guys! What's up?" Mystic—right, that was her name—shook out her finned forehead and offered a lofty grin. Nonchalant, like Byrender. Uh oh. Not too nonchalant, he prayed. Not a complete Byrender, he pleaded. "So I see you guys're just sitting there. I guess Beach Cave wasn't all too tiring for ya, since I'd heard you basically just sat around and did nothing while getting sniffed by the greenies, then Byrender scooped you up after he took that lovely stroll in there—he likes it there for some weird reason?—after our big secret expedition and now you've done practically nothing but sit there, be tired, and get carried. Am I right?"

The sitting around part could have been sugarcoated slightly, but Munchie nod dutifully, acceptance of the mudkip obvious in his eyes. Ashley, though, had another story. "The fuck? I did not—NOT—just sit around, dammit! I got slapped all over my shitty body by how many pokemon, then"—her voice steadily rose—"a bunch of that water really, I mean—REALLY—fucked me up, then"—her voice steadily rose—"Munchie and I, weak and woozy, lie there like idiots with nothing but each other, though he's not a bad guy and I'd rather stick with him"—her voice had declined, but then spiked—"THEN HOW MANY FUCKING POKEMON SNIFFED ME BACK THE—" Aaaannd she stopped talking after Munchie's arm flinched and drove right into her mouth. Navy blue entered slimy pink, and fluffy fingers wriggling, he twitched awkwardly. This had been the first real time he'd touched Ashley, with real choice and real action, and man, was it unpleasant. A fistful of pink, wriggling, slimy, saliva-patched internal organs. His stomach gagged, and his gag reflex tried to stomach it. Nothing fit. His fingers cried out but he didn't move for fear that his stopper being removed, those layers upon layers of fur losing their entire job, would start the screeching again. Munchie knew it'd get to him. This had to only be the beginning, as the chimchar had been talking of prior. The beginning. He winced.

"Well, I guess that's one way to stop someone from talking loud enough to wake up the entire guild!" cried Mystic merrily. The thought dawned on him that it might be ruder to call her Mystic—princess Mystic? Would it be? Then he wanted to know about those _greenies_ as well, because what were they supposed to be? How did those things fit in? Questions floundered, but so did something in Munchie's opened and squelching fist. The fist and his stomach won, gag spiraling and losing its new job of trying to stomach it. "Oh—right. I should probably be quiet too!" That moment, her voice dropped octaves like he did with weight. "So you got any questions?"

Perfect moment to stomach it and ask. Other hand twitching for some odd reason, the one filled and clasped by open air, his soft and exceptionally-squeaky whisper stumbled a few words. "I... um... yeah..?" A blink. "Greenies. I—I mean. What are greenies."

"You don't know what greenies are?" Chewing on his lip, Munchie saw that Mystic had quickly forgotten her own rule. "Well, golly gee, why not! They're the sniffer guys that Byrender caught you getting sniffed by! Duh!" Oh how badly his other hand wanted to plant into her maw too and shut her up, but as he had first getting to know Ashley... just knowing others at all... touching others—daunted him. Guilt stuffed a slimeball in his heart good as Ashley's spit would. She seemed at ease with his hand there. But of course Mystic hadn't finished yet and tumbled out words that only grew in voice, in strength, in that odd, soft-but-silly-but-gushy-and-hint-of-royalty squeak. "You know, the corsola and everything! Their eyes are green, like the time gears!"

"Wh-what?"

She found error in her way. "A-Aaaahhhhhh! I mean... time gears! Like..." Awkward laughter splashed with that royal hint. Munchie felt like illegal information—or another affair about the lumineon's sister—had reached his strange, triangular, just outright angular ears. "...l-like... kingdom stuff!" He didn't know of these kingdom stuff and therefore couldn't tell Mystic he had his suspicions—which of course came from eavesdropping—which of course was embarrassing and he didn't want to talk about that no way no how. "Sorry, I guess commoners wouldn't understand. Eh-heh!" Yep, he had her. Also, Munchie just didn't have the heart to tell Mystic's bright, watery face and golden, shimmering eyes that he completely understood she was trying to cover up something secret. This... royalty girl, whatever, could have been telling the whole truth, honestly. The blushing munchlax only knew the difference because he... eavesdropped way too much. More red streaked over his cheeks.

Still he continued to forget one of his hands tangled with the organs in Ashley's mouth. She didn't bite him, oddly, or spew out his hand. When Munchie's eyes turned, yes, the flaming orbs still drew him on, wide and open and definitely moving. Awake. Conscious. His hand was in her mouth, why wouldn't she stop staring at him like that. The glazed fear in his dark orbs from Mystic's idiot chatter seemed to be reflecting into hers, and before he could say a word one of those pale hands went smack and he realized Mystic had still been blabbing—and thus he'd lost himself in Ashley's flaming eyes. They... they did happen to be pretty. He choked at the notion: what was going on with him today? Well, he reasoned, the mudkip with a pale hand in her maw also had pretty gold orbs. So... that was something. He found the girls cute, so what? Was that... bad, or something? No no couldn't be. He shook himself fiercely, with the ferocity of a great battle warrior locked in heroic combat. All of that good stuff from the bedtime stories spread as gossip in Treasure Town—Munchie... hadn't had anyone tell him those things on their own. Again, he was skinny and everything. A disease. Ashley, again, the first pokemon reached out to him that seemed comfortable with him. Right, right. He felt awkward and transparent.

Munchie removed his hand from Ashley's mouth as her tongue grazed by, like a notice of let-me-talk-please with a curse or so tacked on unevenly. Always the curses with her. "Soooooo, fucker princess lady thing." He winced; smooth. "Let's all try to be quiet so we don't wake anyone up, mm? Can our shit brains all hold those thoughts together, now? Can we all please made a damn promise about that?" Suddenly her eyes whirled around and stabbed their flaming pits of pupils right into Munchie's hide, and he squeaked under what felt like real burns scrawling into him. "Damn promise? Munchie?"

"U-uh..." Those golden orbs of Mystic's cut like the metal itself as well, and he wanted to howl in this emotional turmoil that no one else would even be able to try and comprehend, but oh, oh oh oh, did it scrawl down his flank and burn like nothing else. This catharsis of an upheaval made him want to choke on his heart and other important internal things, like the stuff he'd felt in Ashley's just then. Those strange, pink, gooey globules seemed easy enough to spew over and lose one's breath about. Easy enough, at least. "U-mmm... I..." _Damn promise? Damn promise? Munchie? Damn promise?_ It reflected painfully like a mirror crashing down on him. "Y-yeah... I darn p-promise..?"

And she whirled back around so easily, attention from the water type flat in front of her switching with gold orbs from Munchie to Ashley, then her fiery flames of a tail, flickering jovially, becoming the fire he stared at, instead of eyes. But those eyes stung enough to be fire. He just felt it in his heart. "Damn promise? What are you? Princess lady?" A peeping whisper struck back at Munchie through the corner of his... friend's lip: "whatwashernameagain?"

"Mystic!" hers truly squeaked.

"M-Mystic.." yours truly mumbled weakly and stupidly.

The fiery orbs didn't even glance at him. Should he feel grateful, or relieved, or sad? Wait why sad? Who... cared? This was just his friend not looking at him, seriously, Munchie, is that so much to get worked up about? Is that really worth it? He hated to admit how worth it he felt about that silly thing. Just eyes. Just eyes, Munchie. He didn't think he'd get so overprotective after managing to make a friend. More guilt. That emotion sure liked to rear its head at him. He hoped he'd rear his own crooked-toothed face at it, get that thing away. Maybe one day, like, after he stopped being so skinny, which would never happen, and thus entered a loophole that would never start or end whatsoever.

"Mystic, damn promise?"

"Yep, totally!" She'd already broken the darn promise.

"Uuugghhh, why are you guys getting so worked up about a promise?" a new voice entered. Flowery, soft, not all that masculine, and singsong. That... Chindu. The chatot that... liked Spirit a lot. Munchie blinked through the thought of it. Maybe this was why these sorts of pokemon flocked around the guild. Though he supposed that meant he and Ashley only fit in better because of it. Himself especially—like a disease. "Seriously. We're just about to eat our apples and you guys are... what are you even doing? It's not an occult again, is it? It'd better not be an occult." Munchie immediately shuddered, because the rainbow-backed, slightly-lax, slightly-overworked birdy didn't seem like a joker.

Mystic angrily squealed back—yep, broke her promise—"Hey! SuperCool Mystic Fan Club was _not_ an occult, for your information, Chindu! Geez, how many times do I have to tell ya before it's nailed into your head? Is there even a limit with you?" Oh these guys were definitely used to each other. He would stick out like his crooked rows of teeth. Like his thin frame in a jumble of real munchlaxes. "Besides, it was something I did back when I was just out of my egg and Mom and Dad were introducing me here for the first time. Back when it all was started, and I got everyone to be in my fan club because I was so cute back then!"

"Which means you're not cute now?" He honestly couldn't tell if Chindu had a wicked deadpan or joked. Everything he'd heard the chatot squawk sounded questionable, like it should've been fake and unreal, but wasn't. This entire guild felt surreal and strange as it tried to wrap around his head and succeeded to stuff cotton balls instead, only further causing confusion.

"I am _so_ cute, Chindu!"

"Well, as you've already said to everyone for the umpteenth time, I am gay, so that doesn't make you cute to me."

"Oh my goodness you guys." That hard, dark edge had to be Jordan, the female gallade... thing. Up and running. Here to talk smack with these other pokemon that seemed for family to her than anything else, judging by their seemingly unnoticed and unintentional closeness that everyone just mutually spluttered out. Munchie and Ashley sat there awkwardly as the other team members petered out, each with their own flowery dialogue to mix in, making it obvious who said what.

"By golly, you guys! Talking about our gay leaders again, are we?" Nonchalant. Lax. Byrender.

"You're going to bust a brain vessel at this point. All of you. Never have, never will, but you should." Calm and a little cold and a little kind. Drynt.

"I feel like they already have." That dark slash of an edge. Jordan.

"Well, that'd have to include you, my girlie girlfriend! Eeey!" Squeaky and uncaring and Mystic.

"We're going to wake up Spirit at this point." Worried about his boyfriend. Chindu.

Munchie found it quite easy to decipher conversations after his entire life spent on eavesdropping. If only those words could pertain to actual use somewhere other than making listening to large terrifying crowds of pokemon easy. Though those words always relayed further to addled nonsense as it was, so again he was left with no real use. Again he thought of how he was more cast to the side, more useless, just picking up affairs for characters like those octillery and lumineon mates to find reason to pitch him over and all of those lovely, happy, wonderful things. It choked him up, did. The words continued to spill over him, nonsense, banter, and still he could understand them easily, and still he felt useless but it was okay because he was used to being useless.

Then a pinch. "What the hell are they all talking about?" came a whisper from the short chimchar struggling to wobble close enough to his ear. Of—of course Ashley had no idea what was going on. Should he, like... help her? He supposed it would be rude not to. And this was a lady—Ashley, at that, but Ashley was still a lady, and he should always help ladies. So quietly, leaning awkwardly down into her ears tinged with orange, Munchie coded the words for her eyes to read on his lips. She agreed that the banter was useless too but kept asking—well, more ordering, a little stating—him to continue on, and those orbs lit up when something laughable came off. Sure, the banter had to still be with no use, but at least Ashley enjoyed it some. That mattered. A little. Maybe.

At some point, lost in the sound of voices and his own actually helping the chimchar who continuously uttered curses and laughter at each remark, _then Mystic called him fat, then Byrender smirked and stuck out an arm and then Jordan refused angrily, very angry, and Drynt didn't do much but meditate again,_ and eventually Spirit sauntered in and added his own swagger as well, causing a great raucous which brought that sliver of joy to stick in Munchie's throat when he could see his... friend... laugh. Like a chemical reaction, the light in her eyes and the giggle and the uttered curse or so, followed by another curse, followed by another laugh. Chemical reaction. Science in the works. And, the munchlax saw easily again, like shafts of light had pierced the old floorboards that were the attic of his brain, that he seriously did like Ashley. When she didn't get so coarse... Had Munchie mentioned before that he really didn't like fighting? But he knew he would end up quarreling against Ashley anyways? He swore, he liked her. She was nice—just... nice, in her own way. Not kind, but... nice. Simply nice. He wondered if he had the courage in him to tell her that.

Guilt socked him in the gut for such a thought. No, he did not. If Munchie couldn't even warm her poor wet self when she was soaking thin, how would he muster the bravery and might in him to actually tell her meaningful words that might actually make her give a nice smile like how nice she was? That alone dizzied him, as if all the air in the world had been stolen and now he couldn't breathe, oh dang. How painful. How piteous.

"Okay, okay, how about we all actually digest apples now? I say we all go digest apples. I'm really hungry now." And it seemed finally Ashley would get what she wanted from Spirit: to do something. The way those fiery orbs flickered and outright screamed with their own pupil-coated curse and she sprinted on her hands and feet—like she always did—for that one area ducked to their far right that must have been the mess hall where all of these apples were stored. Spirit really seemed to like apples. Munchie guessed he wouldn't get... too sick of them. Maybe. Oh well; one step at a time. An abundance of apples would satisfy his stubborn stomach anyway—right, he wasn't picky, and as long as that lumbering monster got food when it asked for food, he'd be okay. The stampede of everyone else in this odd guild working in what had to be the peak of night—yes, they did happen to be tired from their thing prior, but still, the middle of the night seemed a little weird—a crazy ensemble of moving colors, some fur, some skin, some fins, some hard gem-like surface that Drynt could be described as, and also something the fins called _gay feathers:_ oh, his arm ached with Ashley's slowly-drying spit.

Upon entering that elongated underground room with windows decked over the walls with small beams the only things supporting the earthen ceiling above, the smell of peat overwhelming but also nice though it did make him sneeze, Munchie found what had to be the most insane, shakiest, strangest, most worrying, scariest stack of red circles he had ever seen before—and would ever see again. Apples, apples, apples, shades of red all over the place, easily overcoming every single other color in the entire room, even the earthy walls with silvery stones randomly embedded, and then the grassy floors traversing to walls, and even Ashley's flickering tail casting a ghostly orange glow couldn't possibly match with the sheen of red. Just... red. And the characters of the guild so casually plucked an apple apiece and settled around a wooden platform—table—flat on the ground, chattering as juice dribbled from their lips and chunks of golden yellow apple crunched and splattered. Even uptight Jordan had her face smudged with juice. He giggled; he couldn't help it. Luckily he actually fit in and snatching a couple of apples, as he'd probably need both of them unlike everyone else, managed to stumble to the ground and... eat. Like... eat. Chew. Gobble. He didn't talk or try to offer tidbits of conversation, as he was still trying to adjust to the characters swarmed around him, though Ashley easily ensconced between the large, brown, fluffy Byrender and large, thin, angular Jordan.

Munchie earned a glare from Spirit for the more-than-one apples, but Chindu growled something under his scarlet beak and the wigglytuff stopped glaring his cloudy green eyes. Unintentionally the greenies popped into his mind at those orbs of Spirit's. Funny... how he's a leader of a guild set out to exploring Mystery Dungeons, as he assumed they did, and his eyes matched the pokemon some of those magic vats of strange magic spawned. But he felt sure Spirit wasn't—wasn't—one of them. Else he'd be sniffing arms and would have that untidy inability to actually use coherent brains with coherent thoughts. So it became obvious what he was, end of story. Munchie wasn't sure he could get played into a guild that had one of those... things... for a leader, but then again he probably could; his only other entity-to-entity connection had to do with a chimchar who boggled his mind enough as it was.

Judging by his new—newer—friends—newer than even Ashley—he'd be in for a ride. And still that message swirled about, locked in his mind. _If you think your life has gone to hell now, this isn't even the start of it._ Of course, wincing to the curse word tenderly thorny in there all the same, she must have been crazy to think life could get weirder than whatever insane expeditions this team had to go on. Staring about at the vast majority of fully-evolved creatures, Munchie vaguely wondered if he, himself, would ever choose to become a snorlax, once he'd gotten older and pubescent junk like that to let him evolve. Not that he wasn't mentally fully-grown, but evolution could be described as puberty in some ways. At least, the bumbling creatures in Treasure Town called it that. Though then again, most of the pokemon there weren't evolved as it was. Should he keep questioning his eavesdropped information or live with it? Or just drop it? Probably the happy, polite choice would be to leave it, let it go, so that no one else comes after him all scary, but... these were his _eavesdrops._ They kind of sort of meant something to him. That was sad, Munchie, real sad.

Angrily shaking out his fluffy, scruffy flank, hoping the sweet apple juice hasn't corrupted his fur and left streaks, which would just give him more the reason to feel useless, if nothing else, the dusk-colored creature stood up on his thin, pale, ovular feet and brushed his layered flank off some. Not a catastrophe. He'd live. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe? Munchie shook himself again like it would discard his annoying apple-cores of thoughts he's rather get rid of. Though Munchie did eat his own literal apple cores: after all, he's a munchlax, and he'll eat anything. He probably shouldn't eat his old, disgusting ideas. Would that give his mind a stomachache? Was that even humanly possible? He was hanging out with other pokemon too much if these were the kinds of ideas to be floating around at all times. It was creepy and worrisome.

Aaaannd yet he stuck around. "Young children! And also Byrender and Jordan, who might be older than me if—what, what'd you say? You can't grow older than me if I was born first? Well whatever you say, smart guy—well you look older! Geez! Can I give my announcement or not?" He and Chindu shared this tango of a glance that seemed like they couldn't figure out what was supposed to happen next. Their heads bobbled and their eyes twitched some, then Spirit blinked those cloudy green and gave a shrug that let Munchie see, rest assured, he was in some shaky hands. "Oookay then. We'll do our chore-like stuff, then have some down time so nobody turns nocturnal"—snickers in the back let Munchie see, rest assured, this wasn't the first time Spirit made such comment and he seemed to know what he was talking about, like he'd accidentally turned nocturnal before?—"and then we'll go on some nearby expeditions so bumbling little Munchie and Andrew don't get lost or anything."

Yeah, that sounded alright—wait a darn second. "It's Ashley."

"Okay, Ashley and Andrew."

"NO! I mean Ashley's the chimchar, I'm Munchie, and nobody is Andrew!" Goodness, where did that name even come from? Did he forget or something? Did he forget a lot? Munchie hoped not; his face blared bright red from that incursion and his fur twitched unceremoniously. Well at least that seemed to clear a few things up. Over across the wooden, slightly-rickety, very-unstable-looking table showed that pair of fiery eyes wedged between a nice, foggy black—Byrender—and those orbs he couldn't even see due to turquoise bangs—Jordan. To his left, he realized, was the patiently still-chewing Drynt who didn't stop floating off the ground like he had an issue with the dirt. Munchie didn't know, maybe he did, maybe he didn't, maybe he just liked floating all the time, and the munchlax idly wondered if the green-skinned-rock-like elgyem—like a gem?—floated while he slept at night. Maybe the air's comfortable enough for some pokemon, or he's used to it, or you know what Munchie, maybe he didn't sleep in the air at all but on the hay on the ground given to him. Jaded eyes mixed in areas in what seemed to be all colors burning down his face glared over at him, Drynt's polite asking of _why are you staring at me so intently._ Assuring himself Mystic, already finished with her apple and currently licking those stubby blue paws with the fins hanging about, sat nearby on that end, the munchlax turned his gaze back to Spirit and Chindu beside him. They seemed to be in a heated debate about what Ashley's name was. Good, he hadn't missed anything.

They're arguing about his first friend's name. Should he... like... step in or something? Try to fix that area? Try to be helpful? It didn't involve... touching anyone... with his hands... which seemed a step easier. He still couldn't bring himself to lay a finger on a soul. Not one. It took all of his pent-up anger and willpower and courage and bravery to swerve a hand into Ashley's mouth that last time, a feat he still found unbelievable. In the midst of their battle, Chindu Ashley v. Spirit Andrew, Munchie quickly scooted over and squeaked: "Oh, no no, I am completely committed to the fact that it's Ashley."

"Awwwwwww." Spirit scowled. His orange-tinged ears flopped over and his big, round face pinched together some. "Oh, whatever. If I ever miraculously have a kid I'm naming it Andrew." Chindu angrily huffed something about how impossible that was—very—and Spirit, with a green-eyed blink, continued trying to explain what was going on in the first place so everyone could focus on those strange chore-like things and work hard on not becoming nocturnal. "Aw, now I have to do explain-y stuff. We all know I suck in this department, so if anyone feels like I missed an important something or another, fill these poor tots in for me." Every time he used a synonym for the word or child itself, Munchie wanted so badly to correct the wigglytuff. "Aaaanyways, chores are where we all try to make this big beautiful creation as pretty as possible. Sooooo we scrub off the table, and we sweep around the rooms, and we make bedding spots if there's someone new with us—you guys need some legit bed places seriously Byrender we gotta do something—just the normal tidy-up stuff. We don't have a list or anything. Just try to make things that look bad, look good. Any questions?

Munchie had many. "Okay, great! You do that, then go to sleep or something, and in the morning we'll go do some exploring! I really freaking love exploring." A pocket of space opened, allowing everyone to mumble about how many times he said this and how very well they knew this. Very. Very well. Ashley didn't say much, just stared up at her huge friends and blinked cheerfully back at Munchie, to where he awkwardly stared at Drynt for another few seconds as the guy continued slowly, painfully slowly gnawing on that apple with his tiny green mouth. "Yep okay. Drynt you do what you're doing, you know we'll buzz off and do the other rooms, and you clean the table once you're done. Tidy up the mess hall. Would that make it a clean hall?" He waited for applause. Munchie was tempted to clap, but everyone else stared daggers at Spirit, so he wasn't quite sure what to do. "That was a pretty good joke, I don't know what you guys are thinking. Well... you guys clean up the other rooms. You know, the outside, the bedding stops, the map place, aaaand I'll get off my lazy butt to clean mine and Chindu's cave. Chindu you help them. Sound good?"

Jordan sat up, making her tower all the more above Munchie. Shivers of her turquoise hair arced, and that mean-looking red dagger jutting through the middle of her chest—thank goodness it wasn't lopsided—shined in the nearby glow of Ashley's orange-red-yellow tail. "I guess it's okay. I mean we have to clean up at some point. We can't go on expeditions all the time, and this is our home."

"Oh, Jordan, you'll make a wonderful mother one day," murmured Chindu, "very responsible."

"Unless she goes lesbian," added Spirit.

"Shut up," grumbled the chatot beside him.

"But you did. Well... you went gay."

"I said shut up we don't have to talk about this especially with everyone ri—"

"But you like did!" The mates—was that even the right word?—kept on squabbling, but the scruffy blue mammal between all of this felt slightly lost, a little woozy, to be placed in the middle of these creatures who so obviously fit together well. Apparently—he and Ashley were supposed to somehow grow used to this place and fit in as well? He... maybe he could do that? Yeah? It seemed likely... ish. A little. His mind felt too boggled to think of much else but those random, idle thoughts he'd grasp at and try to use that would ultimately fall through. Like if Drynt floated when he was asleep—why were these weirdo notions even floating around like Drynt at all? He felt like he was going insane, but he assumed it only meant he was actually not alone anymore, and that struck some interesting thoughts inside because he'd never had this sort of creepy installation ever prior. Munchie felt sure that whenever he fell asleep again, the void of black would be gone and he'd have some pretty messed up dreams sneaking up his way.

"Oh. Yeah. We should go clean now." With a smirk after Spirit's lively tone, the other pokemon in the guild easily flounced off, leaving Drynt to continue slowly chewing his apple and cleaning the mess hall on his own which seemed like something he was used to well enough as Munchie and Ashley turned their gazes and his dark, ugly orbs took in her light, fiery ones and they both had absolutely no idea what they should do. Spirit filed off for his and Chindu's sleeping area, but the black-headed chatot himself diverted his attention for the lagging pokemon dully blinking and feeling—at least for Munchie—like idiots.

He spoke again in that soft singsong voice, kindly assuring the new members what the heck was supposed to be going on right now. "The others are most likely cleaning out the outside area—the place with the grass just out of this mess hall—and they'll be scooping out all of the bedding and the like, making it nicer, smell better, and they'll apply for you as well, probably let you stay in the same room. They're... thoughtful like that." He tittered softly, sweetly. It seemed Chindu was much kinder when the others weren't so boisterous, like... a fatherly figure. He could be rowdy and nice, too. "I'll take you both up to the map place, the room just above this floor, and we can help tidy up in there some. A few Mystery Dungeons on there have invalid errors I'll deal with, but you guys should just clean out the dust, the mites, the mold"—the _mold?_ —"and we can take down any maps that might have too much mildew on them, make a copy. Sound good?" Well personally no the mold did not sound good at all why was there mold in this guild it looked so nice and yet there was mold. Icky green and blue fronds of pure destruction, tearing down everything in their path—and it's disgusting. Disgusting like Mystery Dungeons, but not with the ability of being magical. Munchie swore, if there happened to be dung or something plastered to the walls... he didn't want to find out how he'd end that statement.

A titter. "I'll take that as a yes." The burgundy beak with that hint of a lighter, chipper red nosed upward, toward the mess hall's gaping opening of an exist. Munchie and Ashley, exchanging another glance as she whispered "oh fuck" under her breath, blue over red, collided with a slight bump and stumbled after the flitting chatot whose colorful wings easily captured their attention—especially Ashley's, he saw, as she seemed to have quite the short span of it. Munchie, meanwhile, edged past Drynt, awkwardly trying to keep back from him while looking casual while looking kind while looking apologetic, but the weight of trial and error became too clumsily much and the tall creature of dusky blue easily tripped and sent the chimchar beside him easily reeling as well. Her step had a lurch to it, and she walked as casually as one using her hands and bent-legs to walk on could. Why did she do that? Why did she always bend her legs? Was it something like a chimchar thing where she couldn't fully walk on feet alone or something, or did she just like it? Too many questions. Too many variables. Too many unknown specimen protruding into his life like his crooked teeth, like _more_ crooked teeth, all poking out in awkward formations. Ashley would be the new orange smudge, Spirit could be a shiny white, Chindu with a black outline and rainbow middle, Jordan's a layer of green and turquoise and white, and Byrender huge and brown, and Drynt could be emerald green or something, and Mystic would shimmer sloppy blue.

His mouth ached at the thought of it, of all of these specimen hanging out in his maw now. Not that he did, but metaphorical weight was surprisingly heavy. Perhaps each of his actual teeth had doubled so each new pokemon in his life could be in there, and now the jagged, white surfaces resembled boulders more than actual things to chew stuff with—bad because he ate a lot—and he would stumble a lot more. Munchie scuttled and lifted the fur around his feet awkwardly, feeling like a foolish girl in flouncy fur, like one of those delphox guys—a male like him that might understand—and managed to end up at the rickety, wooden ladder at the left side of the walls, where that hole poked out. Before crawling over there, Munchie's dark blue orbs with the flaky hope as a rim pointed out those scoops of holes in the brown and green walls of grass and dirt, where a pair lined the corner of the back wall and another pair right next to them, in the same corner but on the right wall. So he'd be sleeping in there and probably Ashley would accompany him unless one of the pokemon—he had Jordan, Mystic, and Byrender to consider for—decided differently for some reason and thus didn't happen. Would he... have to sleep with the boys? Did it matter? Well... Chindu and Spirit probably slept together, now that he thought about it. Face crying out in shameful red, the munchlax ran for his friend and the chatot calmly waiting.

Well, the chatot calmly waited. "Hell, man, you fucking froze and just stared. Then your face got all fire red like the fire on my ass, and you ran really fast and shit I did not know you could run that fast, holy hell!" Today Ashley learned that he could run fast if he needed to, and shamefully, he used to do that every single day after watching clouds in order to find his supper and then watch the sunset and then go back to Sharpedo Bluff and sleep until morning, and the cycle repeated. Running involved between watching clouds and watching the sunset. Yes they were different things. And they both were very important to Munchie... until then. "Weelll, what the fuck, let's just go already. Am I right gay man."

"You don't have to refer to me by that!" he squawked back. Munchie's face grew redder by the moment. "Seriously, young woman. It's Chindu, and just Chindu."

"I'm not that fucking young," she grumbled back. "Why I even—"

"Are we going to clean the map... place... thing?" Munchie awkwardly intervened after deciding he didn't want to hear what the end of his new friend's statement was. Felt creepy. He knew enough anyway, what with all the eavesdropping that would never serve him in life even though that was it, his entire life, used up to listening to others and their stories. Most stories, he found the hard way, were meant to be told, while there were a few meant for certain ears alone. And most of the time those few stories meant to be told for certain ears alone were told, he heard them, and he shouldn't have. And that was how Munchie worked. Until then. This happened to be completely uncharted territory, and he didn't know whether he should feel comfortable to that notion or not—and probably not maybe. Maybe a little. A lot. Maybe a lot. This completely uncharted territory, where everything shined or molded—literal molded—new, and it felt like Munchie couldn't belong but it seemed he and the filthy-mouthed deaf chimchar beside him would as well. And these new creatures entangled to him like the knots in his fur would be sure of it. Chindu himself had already lent... a wing.

Such proof spelled out obvious as the munchlax clambered up the wooden ladder only precariously held as one solid thing by ropes, a great many ties of knotted ropes, that somehow lined up and up and formed a real ladder and it shook underneath his pathetic weight and pathetic shaking hands but somehow the dusk blue mammal had scaled it and found himself facing the walls of maps again, save the occasional bare patch or window. A couple of windows, facing eye to eye on the right and left walls, seemed the only exception there. Not even the ceiling or floor was found clean of those green surfaces scrawled with lines: directions. Assists. Maybe a name. Like that one over there, Waterfall Cave, what with the crashing down waves of a waterfall and the forlorn, lone cave beside it. That spelled out what he was sure to be quite the wet adventure. Lumbering a single step back, the true fullness of green surmounting every corner it could massed in Munchie's gut and eye, the patterned leaves sewing each parchment fit to write for as one and melding it in, and allowing those green markers to leave lines and whatnot to show off its knowledge.

The claws of Chindu's burgundy talons scaling the ladder, then Ashley's sagging motion that confused him, followed, and the chatot lifted his beak to reach Munchie's ear well enough. That tattered, angular atrocity. "A mite impressive, isn't it?" the chatot chirped. "But there are the other maps. With the mold. That need to go. Also dusting off the surfaces would be quite the help as well. We... hardly clean this place. I can't even remember the last time we had chores. It's a little out of hand, but it works well enough. So... if there's mold, get some more leaves from that pile over there"—a clawed talon gestured for that pile over there, a wedge in the right stuffed with, surprise surprise, leaves—"use the sap to stick them together, and you can quickly trace over the lines and stick it back up. Easy enough, eh?"

Right there and then, the wimpy mammal put his foot down on the matter that he was not going to touch a particle of that mold. He didn't care what he did—dusted, whatever—but that filth... he could not stand the idea of that filth on him. Yeah, Munchie was yucky and ragged and scraggly and tattered, but mold kind of... He liked cleanliness and tried to keep himself tidy enough, outside of the skinniness or crooked teeth he couldn't actually change. Mold—now mold was a disgrace that should never have been wrought into existence. Disgusting. Outright horrid. Munchie did not like the idea of molding enough that he took off, scampering about the leaf-holds that did not have anything on them, stuck them off the walls or ceiling or floor, and shook out the mat, then easily plastered it back in line. Already the great pause in the ground from map to map made it obvious where the one pulled off for shaking was supposed to go. And the harder and more focused the munchlax became, the more he realized that Zundentun was terrifyingly huge and he hadn't even realized. A vast land chock-full of clusters and clusters of those Mystery Dungeons soaking up the natural world as anyone knew it, filling all portions but Treasure Town, and then there were spots in those Dungeons like some place hastily labeled with a drawing of a castle that must have been Mystic's home where other pokemon, real pokemon, not greenies—that word was really weird—lived. Really lived. And they didn't act all cool and happy and junk then go and pitch out a chimchar as cool as Ashley, who really did feel as if coolness radiated upon her fine physique. Though the bent-leg thing was still weird.

Real lives. They... He swallowed. They'd accept him, then? Like really think he was... okay? Maybe? And not toss him out for being useless? Even the maybes rung happy bells in him. Maybe happened to be different from no, so drastically different and new that even the word that still hung out nowhere near the cool club that was yes but yet so far from the dumpster that was no: it meant something to him. A legit something he didn't like to think of giving away so easily. After he'd folded back the castle drawing and made sure its pretty surface didn't corrupt by dust, Munchie tried to pry himself from the thought of other pokemon not hating him, but it was too tantalizing, too insane, to resist. He had to. He needed it. Yes—needed. How sad of him.

Soon enough papers flew by and the leaves beneath his skin roughly felt the same with their green, identically fuzzy composure that he wanted to hug. It seemed slightly challenging to hug leaves, though. Eventually the moment came where his hand splayed out and traced against something even softer, thicker, and then it arced with curdle. He'd just... touched... he'd just... he... he... _mold. MOLD. MOLD MOLDMOLDMOLDMOLDMOLdMoldmolDMOLDmoldmoldMOldmoldmoldmold MOLD._

The first thought in Munchie's mind was run and never ever come back ever again and escape forever from the universe no matter what he had to do. The next thought stumbled in, woozy, sweaty, wondering why the heck he'd touched it in the first place, and how he didn't realize. The next smirked and cupped him on the back, told him to be a man about it. The final thought spoke at him to stop listening to the voices in his head and do something about the mold. So he did. His hand shot out and smacked into Ashley's mouth—oh. Oh. Bad idea. Bad bad bad very bad idea. He might have aimed for Chindu but he only trusted Ashley.

"What the hell is this soft shit on my lips? ...Oh. Ohhhh. Ew. Dammit, Munchie. Oh well, I'll live. It's just plant shit or another." A wild fling of spit with _ptoo_ and a wad of gooey clear liquid mixed in by bits of putrid green showered upon Chindu's rainbow-feathered back. His clear blue orbs shifted into Ashley's fiery ones and the chatot fell into a nadir of screeching at her, to which the chimchar stuck out her little pink tongue, removed a rather large, hairy bit of pluming turquoise, waddled up to the black-headed bird, and stuck it to the flap riding up his head. "You're fucking gorgeous." She winked. He spat. There wasn't any mold on his tongue but he spat anyway, and Munchie's hand caught the wad of water in midair—sort of water—and the rest of the mold washed off. By then, they had already cleaned up most of the mold and mildew and, well, uninteresting dust, if you just so happened to be the minority in the group—Munchie—and the maps soon shined again once thrust into their domain again.

Chindu smiled, Munchie wheezed, and Ashley casually commented, "Why the hell do these things shine so brightly? Not only is it fucking night time, but I mean they're damn maps: when in the name of shit does a map act like the sun? I mean seriously, this is a SERIOUS QUESTION, dammit." Munchie wheezed again. Chindu's smile didn't even waver. He wanted to clap for that, but he didn't really know how to without looking so awkward, so in the end, the munchlax didn't clap whatsoever. He sighed to himself and his soul mentally applauded for the chatot anyways. It felt not as strong, but at least he wanted to. It's just... his skimpy willpower. Yuck.

Chindu and crew would have stumbled down to the bottom floor and gratefully passed out as soon as they hit the grass below, but just as their dust-and-spit-littered bodies found the energy after cleaning to amble down that rickety ladder, a cloud-white sight for sore eyes popped up with those floppy orange ears and Spirit commanded through a big, terrifying smile on his face that everyone go exploring now, and they'd stay awake until they could pass out later the next night because that obviously was the easiest and perfect idea to keep everyone happy and not nocturnal. Chindu's black face light up like Ashley's tail and he seemed ready to just wing it but the other members of the guild stumbled in behind Spirit like the unintentional bodyguards they were—strong and lean Jordan, strong and huge Byrender, tiny and squeaky and not-so-helpful Mystic—so in the end, as always, assured the other team members, Spirit got hit way and everyone else put up with it because it didn't really matter in the end.

As long as nobody turned nocturnal, it seemed like everyone else just shrugged it on. Even the bigger guys who could chuck the oddly-colored wigglytuff out like Jordan or Byrender, but no, they scuttled on like one big happy family. He recalled what the leader had voiced earlier and decided that yes, it was possible for the gay bird and gay mammal to have children. The guild members counted in a way. They all worked together in the end, and smiles ran for miles, so that was always good. It seemed himself and Ashley even somehow weren't despised, which was like the best thing that could ever happen to him. This... being liked thing. Odd. Scary. Nice a little.

"Oooookay. So we've got go hit the rounds." There were rounds. "I just absolutely need for us to hit our regulars. All of them. Okay? Okay. Great chat." What. "So as usual... that means we ride the Steam Cave entrances and hook us up to Waterfall Cave, then we'll take a detour through the Amp Plains and Mount Bristle area, then we should scoot for Brine Cave and take the route around Foggy Forest back some, then if anyone feels like riding the Steam Caves back for Beach Cave like last time, heck, whatever, do that too." They seemed to use that little Beach Cave place as a final stop if anyone wanted it often enough. It was the entire reason Byrender had found them in the first place. Spirit, before leaving the map room, pitched his head back and shouted, "DRYNT! GET YOUR GREEN GEM-STUDDED BUM OVER HERE BEFORE WE FORGET YOU!"

That explained his bout of unease. They'd forgotten Drynt. And it seemed like this happened a lot. That sounded... a little sad... to think the levitating elgyem might actually be used to the whole losing-himself routine. Heck, the munchlax had never seen an elgyem until Drynt himself, which kind of meant a lot since he saw all of the lively creepers of Treasure Town every single day until Ashley popped up in his life and changed all of that. Munchie shook himself; they'd get him. He didn't move from the bottom rung of that next ladder until the slim, emerald figure passed up, still floating without brushing by the ground even once.

And then... they were off. Munchie labeled the names and counted by finger, from thumb to pinkie. Spirit, Drynt, Byrender, Jordan, Mystic. Then Chindu was his other thumb, and Ashley became the other pinkie. He could be a nail clipping or something. Didn't matter where he fell, but he hugged his hands to himself like a full-blown nincompoop all the same. They had started mattering to him: real-life creatures had starting being meaningful to his idiot self. That had to be saying something. Anything at all. This never happened before. A first-time thing.

What Munchie learned from his guild leader, next-in-command, and fellow guild-mates was that their whole Mystery Dungeon thing literally consisted of exploring. Wholehearted exploring. They didn't do a thing else but, after exiting the guild and running off from the tented city of Treasure Town, disappear down orange, rocky valves of steam and traverse those passages some: always have to have at least one partner, Spirit's single rule. That he had a rule at all was impressive, but Munchie found himself touched by the thought in what the wigglytuff had decided for his crew, his cloudy green eyes poking out in rays of sunlight. Yes, sunlight. Joy. Wow. But either way, Spirit obviously cared and he didn't even seem to notice when jolly, buck-toothed Byrender meandered to his side, deep tone reverberating rather nicely to that voice of his. Jordan pulled to Chindu's side, then Drynt's emerald body whizzed after Byrender, and Munchie and Ashley soon wandered down a bit with Mystic chattering avidly to their side.

Munchie mumbled words with his mouth and watched as his smudged chimchar partner, like magic, repeated what she read back to him without even needing his voice. The finned princess bumbling behind them casually talked to a rather high frequency about her life. "So well Mommy and Daddy decided once I was older I could go here, since they knew Spirit very well and we visited him all the time. Which was reaaaaal fun! And then I ended up running away so I could go there, and it was great because Buner didn't find out!" Buner, he realized much later than he would have liked, was the name of her older brother who happened to be some evolution called a marshtomp, but he didn't get the throne just because he was older since apparently Mommy and Daddy found that their daughter would be much more promising. Also, Buner wanted to be in a band. And an occult. And a lot of things that spiked Munchie's blood pressure. "So, you know, one day I'll probably be a queen guild member that fights alongside all of my buddies like Spirit and everyone and it'll be awesome! I'll be an explorer princess girl!" Personally, the tenderhearted idiot munchlax didn't want to be the one to break it to her that she probably wouldn't be allowed to do both things at once, especially not by her parents, the king and queen. Of what, exactly? "Well... mm. Maybe I should check in on my parents some time. I kind of never told them I'd be running away. I just did... and Spirit got all cranky... then we never visited. But Fyshyngtyn might be missing me! Duh, I'm their princess! Oh, geez... I never thought of that. My poor, poor parents." Oh. So the kingdom called themselves Fyshyngtyn. Okay.

Ashley seemed to keep flickering her flaming orbs over everything, like she was durantsy about an upcoming event about to spill over them. He couldn't think of what might be going on in her mind, but she didn't seem to like it. Fingers in her mouth, Ashley looked ready to accidentally gnaw one off. And those lovely red-and-yellow-and-orange orbs skittered hazily, locked in some daze she couldn't shake off. Mystic continued babbling about her home and her princess life and royalty, all that good stuff little girls had to get out of their system at times, and Munchie politely nodded when needed and asked a couple questions. He wasn't too bad at keeping conversation rolling. Eavesdropping must have been its source.

Upon surfacing from the steam-infested cave that was more a network of cracked, orange corridors, the explorer group resurfaced in one piece at the ridge before slippery, silvery stones, which edged into a glistening blue stream which edged into a great waterfall which edged into what Spirit assured everyone was the Mystery Dungeon. Anyone who didn't believe him would watch him swear on Chindu's life, which made the chatot profusely stutter off _please don't do that Spirit_ and then someone would egg them on to kiss and everyones' faces went redder than Chindu's beak. Even Chindu himself.

"I am not going anywhere near that asshole."

Munchie... well, he'd tried. "But... Ashley! It's our only way in! We can't get left behind!"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT BEING LEFT BEHIND FUCK OFF I HATE WATER."

"I.. I know! But it's all we can—"

"HELL NO I AM NOT TAKING YOUR SHIT EVEN IF YOU FORCE-FEED IT I REFUSE."

"PLEASE JUST GO! I REALLY LIKE YOU!"

"I DON'T FUCKING WANNA!"

Their saving grace came in the form of an annoyed elgyem who looked peeved enough to chuck the chimchar through the flowing waves himself. They eventually compromised to a point where he used super-cool psychic mind energy stuff Munchie didn't quite understand that could hold the crashing waves in place while the rest of his focus was spent on using his slim arms to toss the chimchar like a boulder through, the top of her long, orange-haired head with the bob narrowly missing that tip of the waterfall. "Only a small portion of me rooted for her," he stated in response. Munchie felt absolutely positive Drynt could use those same super-cool psychic mind energy stuff to pitch Ashley into the waves or keep her completely safe. It was his choice to warn her, and his alone, and if Munchie didn't stumble on him he felt pretty sure Drynt would not like that. The crashing waves spun angrily, a torrent of hissing water, but the elgyem casually sauntered through—still floating—and all Munchie could do was saunter on after him. He looked nowhere near as cool as that emerald-colored biped had, but that was okay. Drynt had an air to him that no one else could quite stick a finger to. And it was a cool air.

Not only did Munchie learn that Drynt was a saving grace, but he also didn't talk much and seemed like he didn't care, but when Ashley accidentally pitched herself into a puddle, Munchie hesitated idiotically and Drynt leaped over to assist. One of those guys, he observed, giving an awkward thanks to his eavesdropping skill. Other interesting stuff he learned when Drynt did talk were that nobody seemed to remember him. He and Munchie had a smooth conversation on being forgetful, and he gave himself happy points for that. "I don't think it's that anyone dislikes me, but that I'm just a little hard to remember. Elgyem isn't a species that most pokemon think of when a random one comes to mind." As well, he had a simple story to share. "I once had a family. I was the elgyem and they didn't know what that was. The family found me weird. I found them annoying. I left." And like Mystic, another pokemon that had purposely run away from home. Only he really didn't like the source of that running. "I came upon this place and knew I must belong there. And was I right..." The soft, slightly-emotional, slightly-stoic voice let up some. "I don't think I'll evolve ever. Nobody remembers me that well as it is, I'm pretty set here, and I don't know if I would like even more confusion."

Munchie really grew to like the fact that the other team members made an effort to talk to him. He liked learning about them, and Ashley was starting to wander off like she had something important to find and it was driving her to no end insane. Worrisome, but he'd tried and had no clue what he could do. Guilt only continued to pour into him. He had to apologize. He had to... something. Anything. He wished he could come up with something right on the fly.

When the team met up again in the peaks of a silvery, rocky basin of sorts, the Amp Plains leading up to Mount Bristle, its terrifyingly white, snowy peak sticking like a needle, Munchie absolutely lost the chimchar he was trying so hard to stick to and soon found himself scuttling off behind a much larger, warmer, fuzzier creature than himself, and they shared body heat, which Byrender of course didn't mind at all because he was Byrender and Byrender had no shame. Not that it was really bad, but it... was weird. Just weird. Oh, was Munchie thankful to hear the bibarel and his story. "See, when I was a young bidoof, my mom was old and losing a lot of things, most of all her life. Dad'd passed some time ago, and it was obvious she'd been aching to join him since. They loved each other a lot, and that love rubbed off on me. They're just good parents, all it takes. So anyway, my older brothers and I set out off to different places, and I ended up here. And I remember one time Spirit really... upset me, and I'd ran off with the tears in my eyes, and I'd found a small creek to myself. And I'd cried for my family. And... it took time, but eventually I came back, and you should've seen how much Spirit and Chindu had missed me. I was only the first member, and ohhh, seeing their faces... Ah... It took ages before we realized I'd evolved. Heh, good times."

The munchlax decided not to tell Byrender how jealous he was of that beautiful life. Yeah, he didn't say he was in love with anyone, but that life on its own sounded so sweet and soft and happy. Different than Munchie's. "And now that I'm here, I just want you and Ashley to feel the love our group has to offer too." Okay was he trying to make this poor soul burst into pathetic tears? It sure felt like it. Munchie hardly recalled what the heck he'd passed by through the boulders and basins and rocky outcroppings of Amp Plains, much less the snowy, rocky confines of Mount Bristle, which in the end were terrifying as it was but happier with some goofy, happy folk like Byrender with him. Munchie... seriously was growing attached to those pokemon. They welcomed him way too easy. They worked with him way too well. It was scary how nicely they fit.

Grumbling about how worried he was, Munchie stuttered down from the peaks of the snowy mountain with Jordan in tow, who seemed in the perfect mood to rant about how much she hated her parents. "They think they can go and just do these things. They think oh, I want a murderess assassin so we'll just make sure our girl becomes a gallade. Because obviously girls are supposed to be gallades—and no they're not supposed to be gallades, you idiots! Do you know what stress I went through to end up in this uncomfortable place? Do you idiots think I like this? Sure, I've grown accustomed to it, but it's not like I enjoy getting those glances. Geez, if anyone, I think I'd go with Byrender." More jealousy for him. Especially because this murderess assassin's life more than slightly made Munchie want to cry for the lovable bibarel. "It was painful, it was long, it was horrible, and I don't want to know what actually got me here in the end. So, just like any other sane entity, I'd ran away, and I met Byrender, and he welcomed me to our gay leaders. It was him, then me, then Mystic, then finally Drynt. We'd all run away from past lives to get ourselves where we are today, and there's honestly no other place I'd rather be." Though she wasn't the best at words—none of them really were, but maybe Chindu a little—Jordan's story had such a twist ending that sent Munchie to tears. He horrendously sobbed through the exploring of the Brine Cave with its water and network of _drip, drip, drops_ that seemed to play a song.

By the end of his tears and overemotional actions for this group of pokemon, Ashley had randomly rounded a bend and stumbled into him, and whence everyone grouped back up again, Spirit whistled. "Woo! Looks like the tots are ready to pass out! Well... we haaaad taken a few extra days. Whatever. It's night. We'll go home. Won't be nocturnal."

Chindu whispered something that sounded a lot like, "Don't worry, you guys. We all felt the same as you at the start of our first exploration. Always the rounds." Other whistles from those other guys assured him of this, but seriously all Munchie wanted to do was go die and fall asleep some then somehow wake up later. He'd worry about that later. "We'll just make sure you get some rest now."

And that they did.

Munchie reaaaaaally liked being part of this group.

 **Me: hwaaah, so cuuuuteee...**

 **Mystic: OOH, I LOVE CUUUTE! :D**

 **Jordan: It was okay I guess.**

 **Drynt: I enjoy our odd endeavors.**

 **Byrender: Group hug?**

 **Everyone: -shrugs- Group hug.**

 **-MUCH HUGGING-**

 **Mystic: LOOK WHO'S KISSING**

 **Chindu: I DID NOT MYSTIC**

 **Spirit: YEAH YOU DID**

 **Chindu: SPIRIT**

 **Spirit: GAY BIRD LOVELY**

 **Chindu: STOP EVERYONE**

 **Me: -passes out in a haze of cuteness-**


	3. I am Disgusting Guilt Monster

**Me: Now to write a chapter while in the most uncomfortable pose possible.**

 **Ashley: hahahah—**

 **Munchie: ASHLEY**

 **Me: I HIGHLY DISLIKE CAR+WRITING ON LAPTOP THIS IS PAINFUL**

 **Ashley: TAKE THAT FUCKER**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Three: I am Disgusting Guilt Monster

Painfully wincing, Munchie's head fogged in and out of exactly that forest. Foggy Forest. Their last leg of this accursed exploring that Spirit casually said would take less than a day and they'd get back at night and be not-nocturnal like good guild members, but he'd lied, because in the end they had taken however many extra days swam around in front of his dark eyes that could barely glimpse what was in front of him as it was, fogging in and out of sight and momentum—what momentum?—and he could hardly feel the world pass him by as it was. All the poor, pathetic munchlax wanted to do was pass out somewhere, anywhere, and forget about everything because his brain was tired. Not of just remembering. Life, mostly, he guessed. Just life. Munchie swore, if he had happened to be one of those huge brutes everyone was scared of and didn't mess with, he would've showed Spirit what's what. But he wasn't, and the guilt of that thought capsized him into a stream of mental fog once more. It seemed he was trapped there.

Oh geez, the scruffy thing had never been struggling so hard to plow through this tired stretch of plain struggle. The Struggle. He could hardly hold open his dull orbs and the lids kept flopping over like they knew very well what he wanted to do and didn't understand that was the last thing he could deem possible. Shaggy head loftily shaking like he had even a miniscule clue of what was going on and it messed with him, Munchie's dull, dark orbs scoped about and he found with a cold icicle stab of fear that nobody showed beside him. The recognized faces vanished to mist. Just mist—all of that fog swamping about him and he felt like choking in mounds of milk, curdled, disgusting, stomach-acid-chewing milk that made him lose his breath and stumble over the pebbles in the worst places and slam into chocolate tree trunks that sent stars shrieking across his gaze for a good few seconds. Recovering didn't seem like an option until out of nowhere the blackened dots whizzed from orbit and Munchie was left to he, himself, alone, all over again. Then he'd ram into another tree without seeing it like an idiot. A cycle. A very ugly cycle that clashed well with his crooked teeth. Brown and white, like a cookie, a bitter cookie made from tree trunks and a diseased munchlax's teeth. Maybe... someone would find it tasty. He could always hope.

It dawned on him. The best way to reunite with his... his friends. Right. "Helloooooooo?" His voice stretched thin like patches of fog that he kept using like doorways. Might've been going in circles, for all he knew. The soft tone with the rough husk washed away with the funneling currents of wind, and with what again felt like a curdled-milk breath and then cough, Munchie tried again. He had nothing else to do, nothing else to lose. Well, but his life, but he'd rather not imagine losing that thing just yet. "HeeelllooooooooooooooOOOOO! G-gu... Guys! Wh-where a...are you! Where! I can't find you aaaa-aaannywhere! This is r-really fr-freaking me out! AGK!" Zilch. Not a catcall swung his way. Munchie was just about ready to crumple into tears, he felt awful enough, and his fur looked like he'd swum around in the curdled milk used to dip in his tree-bark Munchie-tooth cookies.

"O-oh, p-please, guys! Anyone! I'm freaking out!" And he was. "I hate this!" And he did. "Please, please—say something!" And did they? No, they did not. Words did not fall into his ears like his had to the soft, mushy ground. In a burst of fiery frustration, a fist went out and swung and cracked into the nearest tree trunk with an ugly _BANG._ Oh, that didn't sound very good. Munchie painfully flexed his hand and one of his fingers went with some numb _cruh-crah-craCKS_ that sounded really really bad but he couldn't even feel how painful they might be. Didn't seem that bad. Maybe. Without moving those sore, numb sticks of hands, he could still feel the aching throb in some part of his palm, reverberating out to the trunks, then tips of his fingers, each one of them. Tears beaded in Munchie's eyes, and he had to bite his lip to stop from howling in even more sadistic, pathetic pain. It just like hurt a lot. He was so so so stupid and ugly and ow ow that hurt ow stop aching you crudely-bent pinkie.

Oh. He waved his hand to ward off fog and stared at the throbbing, blue-layered pinkie beneath the fuzz. Oh geez. That was not how a pinkie was supposed to bend. His stomach curled over. That was _not_ the way the pinkie bent. Nope. Not at all. How the heck was he supposed to—but just staring at it, trying to think of how to bend... bend it back in place, he felt ever the sicker at each passing second and his eyes tipped, he went woozy. Hazy. Could hardly stand. The entire arm went into hiding behind his back after awkwardly crossing over the pale circle on his chest, and he knew he wouldn't find it again. This was a hide-and-seek game that couldn't be allowed to end. Munchie, as seeker, knew he'd be terrible, and he couldn't bear to watch anyway. What kind of sick hand played this jaunt anyway? His stomach burbled and acid burned in a rush down his throat, and something crawled in his ears. Munchie felt obviously at ill will. His face flushed. He missed everyone in the guild. He wished he could ask Byrender to help, just to hear that deep, jazzy tone get all the way into his new injury and become excessively thick and sicken him all the more. Munchie wanted to hear that. Oh yeah did he want to listen and be sickened by the bibarel. You bet. And no, he couldn't do sarcasm—just the truth poured from this pathetic thing's maw and mind.

"F-f-fffriennds?" Oh no, he'd used the word. No going back. The rest of the past didn't matter anymore. That could have been a lethal mistake, to call them friends. Ohhh no... "Are you... there?" He didn't even care how piteous he must have sounded, or ugly, or sad, or stupid. "Just... where are you! I don't wanna lose you guys now! COME BACK!" Did they show up? Good joke—no they did not. "Wh-why... are... y-y-you doi...ng... th-thhiii-ssss! Aahahahhhhh..." Hysterical laughter. Usually the last piece before spontaneous tears and insanity. Oh no, not insanity. Munchie grappled his ears high above his head, splattered them to the sides of his face, and trotted in a circle, mumbling to himself about how scared he was. Pathetic. Yes. Then again, this was Munchie, and for him, this was normal. And pathetic—but also normal of a response. He should have been used to this, but instead whimpered, "Where... are you..?"

A pule slipped from his lips. He wanted to slap himself for that, but both hands were busy plastering his ears to his face as he slowly succumbed to the delirium smothering him, rising up in him like anarchy, taking over and painting his insides every other color than what they should have been. The vile scent of bile slipped through his throat and squeezed in him like a compressed sneeze. It stuck to him and peeled like skin, inside skin. Munchie wanted his friends to show up... he'd really grown attached to being near those other guys... and then he didn't like this sudden depart of pokemon that both liked him and cared for him. He couldn't have been duped... Munchie's heart sunk. No, he couldn't have been duped, squeaked his mind. They'd welcomed him, and kept him from dying, and had him company, and they even dismissed Ashley's curses. Munchie felt... a little special to be with them. To... belong? Did he belong? Yes? Yes. And yet here he was, nobody in sight but the fog and the throbbing of his pinkie to keep him company. Quite the sadistic crew; Munchie had nothing else at that time. No clue where his dear first friend, the smudge-orange chimchar, had skylarked off to, and he just sat there like a complete idiot when he backed up.

 _Thuk._ Scruffy dusk blue back, head, and that hand smacked against tree bark just behind him, sending leaves spiraling down his way. A few lucky ones even managed to take a swipe at his face, causing a cut or so. Maybe. His fur was a bit deep, deep sort of like oceans, so maybe it just nipped at one of his layers of fur. One of the however many. Those layers had an original purpose, to keep the munchlax and its body heat from how much foot and flub wrapped in one place. Then Munchie came along, and now it contributed to his ridiculously high metabolism. So ridiculously high, his needed body fat as a munchlax to survive by normal means in the wild had all but burned away like peeling back layers. Now he had fur, but he had no potbelly or flub composure. Admittedly, he wanted to know why he wanted something that made him so large—seriously, a potbelly, out of all things to wish for—but it would have made him fit in. But would it have let him become where he was now? He didn't dwell on the matter.

Instead, the continuous contribution of his mushed pinkie sandwiched between the body Munchie did have, as thin as it was, and the trunk of a prideful tree, sent splintering pain to go spiraling and stars to scar his vision and rip him in half until he slipped an unruly fall to the ground with a _bump_ right on his rump. More stars. It died. And... nothing. Nothing at all. Rubbing at his eyes contentedly, for those few glorious seconds, the thin munchlax had completely forgotten what ailed at him. Then it came back, a thunderous cry, maybe the flash of realization lightning, and that same, bent hand shoved into Munchie's mouth to stop him from bawling. He mumbled the names of those he lacked, happening to be everyone, through his lips and through his hand, but of course nobody once again had the ability to respond and assure him and keep him from losing his mind. Then again, for all he knew, he could have already lost that too. Sanity, oh sweet, precious, succulent sanity, where have you gone?

It sure felt like he'd been ditched by it alongside those pokemon so hearty and happy and lax, labeling him as friend. _Friend._ Munchie wanted to cry, but his fist clawed at some organ or another and he didn't. "Damn, it didn't..." The voice sent shivers down his spine. He recognized those curses, fluent as the language she spoke, that everyone spoke and understood so easily. "That was really fucking wrong alright. I dunno why the hell it didn't show up, but what the fuck. It could have been thanks to damn old Influence, for all I very well fucking know." She spoke like this... this Influence... was a pokemon too. "Damn bitch boy. I bet it was him." Yep, Influence had a life. A real life. And Ashley knew that life relatively well enough to curse about him. Then again, she cursed about everyone. He could have been a random passerby she hardly even knew. "He better not have lost his fucking memory, dammit! I told him what we were supposed to do, but I come and wake up in this hellhole and WHERE THE FUCK IS HE, HUH? DAMMIT, INF!" Inf. A shortened version of Influence. Ashley therefore had to know this guy. Munchie's heart sank. "Hey, Munchie, can you help me out with this damn thing?" His hand fell out of his mouth in surprise.

She saw him? She knew he was stuck there, trapped with a broken pinkie? She... she... _Hey, Munchie, can you help me out with this damn thing?_ H-how the heck did he know anything at all to help her? How the... how could he help her out? He was pathetic and dumb and guilty and—what could he do..? "M-Munchie!" Something, no, someone, slammed to his side, That pinkie seemed to bend a little more with each moment arcing down on him. And still, Ashley... what did he know? How could he help her? "Hey." Hands, those long ones, cupped his face. He couldn't see her through the film of fog, of the film of his tears he struggled to hide, but the dull dark fur caught the feeling. No one... touched him... and there she came all like _hi I'm going to touch your face now okay Munchie_. And it was... it freaked him out, one, but if he moved his tears might spill out and his face warmed and itched and it was uncomfortable and he felt terrible. "Hey, Munchie...

"You don't look so hot." She hadn't even cursed, and a sliver of a sweeter tone trembled in. Those flaming orbs, he just felt, burned through the film of tears. "You... uh... okay, or something?" Of course, a little awkward, a little confused, a little unable to try and be nice to him, without knowing, Ashley's attempt at being soft and kind to him. It only lasted a sentence or so, not even a complete conversation, much less than a trailing thought, but an attempt. She cared. She... actually cared.

Like the pathetic morsel he was, the tears eked out and Munchie finally threw back his head and sobbed to himself, to the guild members, to his newfangled friendship, to his sudden and shocking sense of loneliness, to his wrong-way-bent pinkie, to Ashley a little too. Lines of tears marked like tattoos tracked down his face in what must have been odd, clumped, disgruntled patterns that could have looked like anything, really. Probably terrible. Obviously pathetic. But Munchie couldn't stop the ensemble of emotion, and for a moment he understood how he felt at those lonesome times, how much he must have cried ago. And how much he cried then, and the sweet, salty lick of tears down his face and traveling onto Ashley's placed hands that didn't even move when the wetness seeped into her. He could have sworn the chimchar didn't like water. She'd said so. Through the emotional blunder fogging up his senses worse than the environment, Munchie had mumbled through trembling lips, "I... sorry, I'm so pathetic... ugh..." And just ugh. His insides felt trashy like _ugh_. Here he was, crying in front of his first friend like a nincompoop. What in the world would she be thinking of him now?

Being deaf, even if his words were drowned out by voice, she read by lip. "Munchie... oh my gosh, it's... fine, dude, seriously. We all have to cry sometimes. Maybe some of us have to cry more than others, and that's okay, too. You've probably been through a lot. I dunno. I just popped into your life and here you are, saying I'm the first person to've actually gone up to you at all. Well, I like you, and I think I wanna stick around, either way." He could've sworn he saw a little smile. "You're not as pathetic as you think." It sure felt like it, though. The way that Ashley spoke to him begged to differ but he just couldn't help it. Still... she never... talked like that. Like she had this softer version she shoved down inside of her, or just couldn't find. And it only came out in certain moments. Like then. And Munchie felt a little special imagining the situation like that. Maybe if he imagined himself being a little special over being a lot pathetic, maybe that'd help his self-esteem. It sounded like... an idea. Maybe. But Ashley had to be present if he was going to try something as stupid as that. He was not going to take this on alone. He decided being alone was something he really didn't like.

Swiping at his tears, Munchie struggled to nod, then the wrong hand intercepted with his face and a certain pinky went _crack_ all over again and it was a bad idea. Crying out a sudden jerk of pain, Munchie scrambled to his pale toes again and blundered into another tree, thankfully without his pinky being one of the victims. "Oh geez, holy hell, let's go find Jordan or something. I heard she can repair broken shit with her teeth!" Oh no that sounded like a horrible idea but if Ashley was staying with him and Ashley wanted to help him and they'd meet up again with Jordan in the process, it didn't seem so bad. He could live with it. At least the fog would finally dim from around here. That hazy thing, lingering into every sensation of his and melding with his being and not even leaving, it darn right scared him. Fogs shouldn't do that to entities. It was creepy, end of story.

Grappling onto the right hand, thank goodness, Ashley's long fingers clamped unto Munchie's incredibly layered and fluffy ones and she scrabbled onward and he followed her, and there was no one else he'd rather be following. Her odd waddling step, transferring to slower pace since she couldn't use her hands with one on Munchie's, kept it gentler, tepid, but Munchie didn't mind. Her fiery tail lit like a path for them to follow, enshrouding their figures and holding at least some of the fog at bay, and a nice distance away as well. He smiled a little at that, crooked teeth fanning out. "Dammit, where were... uh... I think our buddies went off further. I remember you getting lost. Then everyone else got lost—fucking clueless. Then... maybe I got lost. Because I'm pretty sure Spirit was lost, which meant we were all fucking lost and there was no way out of it, and because they were bumbling like bitches I decided to go look for you. Hah, what a smart idea." And in the end, she was happy about it. Munchie puffed a sigh of relief. His pinkie continued to ache, like a circle of reminders for what they had to do. Stupid pinkie, making him feel pathetic. Ashley's hand comfortably held on too tightly, but it revealed she was there, so he liked that too. Even if it hurt a little bit, sort of like a split pinch of sorts. Not really bad though. Usually... he would've flinched back. It was nice and it was there. That was that, in the moment.

Shuffling like greenies through the fog—he still hadn't seen any since way back when in Beach Cave, like they'd all been voided or something—ambling past trees, Ashley's tug of her hand somewhat saving him from running into one of those deadly trunks, even saving his pinkie a few times, Munchie felt thankful for that moment with the chimchar. Guilt amounted, sopping up in his throat, but he felt a whole entire step closer to her persona, and he felt like she trusted him more, and that they'd figure it out in the end. Out of everyone else he knew, he was happy his first actual friend happened to be this chubby chimchar with long hands and feet, and the orange bob of hair up until that flickering point that fell from such hair in a small tumble of knots and longer fiery strokes. Munchie felt quite satisfied for himself at the moment. All he had left to do was figure out why this crashing wave of guilt was now surmounting him and taking over his figure.

Well, yes, Ashley had seen him weak and vulnerable and exceptionally pathetic. She'd been the first—and she knew it—to befriend him, the first to actually reach out and touch him, and though it obviously unnerved him—although everything, she lived with it. Continued being swanky, continued smiling, smirking, cursing. And in those pockets of moments he had a chance to show off to her, to be helpful and kind to her, especially her, well, yeah, he screwed up bad. It wasn't meant to be... was it? He hoped it was. He wanted to actually do something nice for that forsaken girl. Yeah, she made a flame in his chest burn sometimes like he wanted to punch something and either further bust his pinkie right off or perhaps bust the other one nice and knobby, just like the first, but still. He could look past that. For now. Worry nibbled as his crooked little rows, the peaks of his teeth, grazed his lip. He was surprised it hadn't started bleeding yet, even after all of the attacks he'd driven into it. Good lip, it was. Very good lip.

Smiling like a doofus to himself about his lip, Ashley had managed to both let go of his layered hand and antagonize their friends until one of them, very tall and angular, lots of turquoise hair, still couldn't see her eyes or the color, sauntered up to him, leaned down, deliberated against it, and sat with her knees on the ground. Still with Munchie standing, her head bobbled above his. Then with an apologetic smile, hands fastened to his arm and yanked to see his pinkie, only she'd taken the wrong finger and suddenly bent a tiny knobby nub of pinkie in the wrong place and stars stars stars burst and collected and little tear rinds fuzzed onward. "Oh—ah—I'm so sorry, Munchie! Let me try to..!" And again. _CRACK_. And... fixed, was it? His eyes squinted, but he pierced his good pinkie and yep, already fixed. The stars didn't descend so heavily, just a woozy aftermath, until that hand was dropped and the other finger came up and with an "ooooooh..." something slobbery and wet nipped his pinkie—oh gosh it was Jordan's mouth, her teeth—and she fastened tightly. "Yuh ruudy?" No. He was not ready, don't do this, Jordan. But the gallade shrugged, offered a smile between his freaking fingers, and yanked her head back like a cord was glued to it and it had been yanked.

 _CR-CRAAACCCKKKKKKKKkuh._ Munchie had been forced forward at her sudden movement, and his face met a billow of the earth, of the ground, where he could do nothing but give a horrendous sneeze and itch awkwardly at the nub of a nose concealed by layers of dark blue fur. Just dark blue all over but not the bottom of his face or his feet or the circle on his chest. Those had been a dusty cream, but now they looked kind of pale... maybe even a... a little... nice? Maybe? No, not really. Ugh, no don't even think of that, Munchie. He winced at himself to spite it and mounds of dirt entered his mouth. His hand fell limp from his friend's mouth and she mumbled an apology where he mumbled back how his pinkies were both good as new so whatever. Plus he'd never had a friend bite his finger, and it was kind of nice. He should have left that last part off, but Jordan just smiled some and said she didn't mind. Made her feel kind of special, which made him feel kind of special, so therefore it worked out in the end. With an awkward grin, he shook himself and bumbled straight into another brown trunk but his head registered that he'd hit fluff, not trunk, and sighed into Byrender's stomach.

At least, it might have been his stomach. The bibarel was kind of huge, and Munchie knew he went at least halfway up to him, but not really where the stomach or the spleen or all those wonderful things would have gone. "Eeyy, Munchie ol' friend ol' pal, what's up? Ya look kind of tired and twisted. Jordan didn't accidentally break your other finger too, did she? Once, see, I had this toe I'd gone messed up, so, you know, asked Jordan to help me with it but she accidentally broke my entire foot." How did someone with that sweet, jazzy tone still continue its contentedly deep roots when speaking of something so painful? "She unbent it in the end, but that moment really took my breath away. I kinda sorta freaked out a little. Buuuut I'm okay. Buuuut I lived. So it's all ya do. Plus, I can't stay mad at Jordan! Haahh..." His dark, beady orbs released pent-up emotion, and the bibarel went and smiled at Munchie, who trembled with an awkward smile of his own back. _All ya do, all ya do..._

He liked these pokemon, honest, but sometimes he didn't see how they could be so different and yet fit together so well. And yet it worked out in the end. Sometimes the stellar opposite pokemon were the ones that were the closest. Opposites attract, as they always say. Still... it was kind of weird, how the pokemon were all so different. And how they all came together to the guild—running away from home—still the same. Even he and Ashley... had technically run away. In a way. He'd run from his last life and who knew where Ashley'd run from? It looked like she was trying to escape something. The secrets he felt were holding her quiet—as did everyone, everyone had secrets; himself... not as many—could prove that. She burst into Zundentun via her lightning shock of white light. Seriously, that had to mean something. Pokemon didn't spontaneously fling themselves into the world like that, not without combustion on the spot. And then she did. Meant something. Munchie had absolutely no idea what, but just... something. As an embarrassingly talented eavesdropper, he knew these things. It got to him, it did. He felt guilt, again—when would he learn to conquer it? But it was all he could do. With an awkward blink, Munchie pressed his lips together and turned toward Ashley's cream face, who pressed her lips back and smirked. He didn't know what to do in response; her long fingers lifted and as a whole, they honked his nose. No idea what to do. His tongue flickered out; she smirked back again.

"Hey, look, I found everyone! Wow, aren't I so great, Chindu?"

"Sp-Spirit! You were the one that got everyone lost here in the first place! I'm sure they all met up in the end on their own terms!"

Another voice slithered through. Male, soft, cold, gentler, acceptance, happy. "Ah... Spirit, you didn't. You simply didn't. Don't question it any further."

"Aaah-ha ha haaaa! Drynt, you silly boy! Well, everyone's here. So that's all great! Woo-hoo! We should party or something really fun like that, yeah?"

Spirit snorted. His white figure approached like a ghost's, and the heart now lodged in Munchie's throat beat horridly. "Oh, come on, are you kidding me? I think everyone here needs to sleep. Aaaand we have to get back before, you know, morning. So we don't become nocturnal? Duh?" Other snorts followed the odd-colored wigglytuff's remark, and the family-like formation ensued after, with everyone merrily meeting up with the rest of their lost pack and Spirit lifting a puffy paw to point in the direction he'd come, letting everyone know he'd found their way back home. Oh sweet, sweet sanity, it trickled back into his brain, nigh sound and complete. His brain continued to ache with each step, like it was torture to continue on, but it was also all he could do, to continue. He felt that much safer though now that all of the pokemon he'd come there with had returned.

As prior, the tiredness descended on him like a dark, soupy night, which they would end up wobbling into too, after the final stretches of Foggy Forest misted by. This had been his first exploration route, these rounds, as they called it, and oh, was he tired after all that had gone on. Ashley sometimes materialized to his side, and she'd mumble about how she was so tired, only with curse words studded in, and that she couldn't wait til they slept. Munchie couldn't, either. Every member of this team had taken those rounds as the first stop in their Mystery Dungeon exploring venture, and they all must have understood how slumped and beat up the munchlax and the chimchar were. They seemed a little... closer, too, just because of the shared experience. That was smart of Spirit, to do that. Gave them a reason to bond over: the tiredness. The aching pain. The sudden seeing of how they would one day be less tired doing this, and the thrill of exploring would shock them into it. Munchie's biggest shock was still Ashley, though. This was close, but... he didn't like to think of where he'd be without her, and he knew where too. But it... wasn't the most pleasant memory.

Honestly he couldn't pinpoint when and couldn't believe it happened, but eventually the fog about them lifted, and the trees did as well, and then suddenly Munchie realized that they'd actually... like, made it. Alive. All of them. And he was going to sleep soon and it would be good. It would be very good. It would be the best sleep in the world, and he bet the weirdest dreams would show as well, because of all of this sudden change. Stumbling, mumbling, shaking, rubbing at his eyes, snorting, Munchie ambled on after his friends, their cast shadows in the night, alongside the blooming of a fat moon itself, which lighted his way enough. He managed to go on, even as his limbs felt weak on the edges like they'd fall apart. His toes wanted to split, but they didn't, wouldn't, stuck together somehow, as much as they felt like the opposite. They stuck together like the group of Spirit Bright did, and he found that a little inspiring.

Once Munchie found himself walking up a familiar trail, up the hill, down the ladder, clambering and slipping over wood and rope and then on the bottom with grass trickling under his toes, and then into those holes. He chose a random one. Supposed they wouldn't judge him for it. And once Munchie stumbled into some room, and he saw the hay on the ground, didn't matter where, didn't matter anything, just the fact that there was hay and he could pass out, that's exactly what he did. Consciousness took off like a leaf in bright winter and Munchie went out like a light, splayed among the tatters of hay, drool inscribed to his lip. A stream about to open wide.

 _The banner that once hung so gleefully above his head lie in tatters on the floor below, melding with the grass easily. Munchie stared like an idiot at its disheveled confines, just sitting there, littering, wasting the old leaves that had once made up what had to... had to be maps. Soiled maps. Broken maps. Old, watered-down, torn maps. Droplets of spilled, curdled milk made their green markings run the most horrendous color, then cycle, then smell, this rancid odor that trailed up his nose and caused some gag reflex or another to react strongly. He choked on his own spit, then the odor, then his spit again, and it burned and it tasted particularly nasty in his throat. Another gag; choke. Munchie's face pinched and turned, and he came straight up to looking at a tall, angular thing with a red blade shoved through its chest and a strange, green beard trailing down its face. His face. Her face? What?_

" _Feel this," it told him, then used its mouth to bite Munchie's arm and somehow force his fingers against the beard. Soft... too—oh no, too too soft, no, yuck, no mold mold mold no get the mold away right now. But the beard didn't leave and mold bloomed and leaped all the way from that chin to his hand and eventually began slowly taking over his body. Icky, fuzzy, yucky, disgusting, old, dirty, gross MOLD. GET THE MOLD AWAY, RIGHT NOW. MUNCHIE HATED MOLD VERY MUCH. His stomach curled and suddenly the mold was inside of it. Just suddenly._

 _And then Munchie blinked and for some reason he was in the sky, blazing clouds trouncing about him and chanting at him, a few of them fat and puffy, with the oddest stripes of color in them. Like they were rainbows, but the rainbows only had one color. And it striped with the white of the cloud. Either way, nothing made sense. Munchie didn't know how reality could do that, but yeah, nothing made sense. A puddle frozen in one of the clouds, this one bright orange with fluffy hair and long edges for some reason, though it was heavy and fat in the middle, revealed the munchlax to himself—no, herself. How did she forget she was a girl? How did she do that? Apparently it was possible. Munchie shook her delicate girl head and brushed off her chest, then waddled from the cloud and fell off the edge, only to be buffeted by a chubby primate, like an orange smudge, with long fingers and feet. She smirked and said, "There you are, Spirit. You wouldn't leave your boyfriend like that, would you?"_

 _What. So she had... what. The chimchar didn't look like a liar, though she had really fiery orbs that could have been lying for all the heck she knew. Wait though—so she was Spirit too? Munchie had this feeling Spirit was a boy... which made her... her gay? She was... what? When did this stop making sense? Why hadn't she been questioning it earlier? Why was it now that she realized, of all times, she wasn't even a guy? Then out of nowhere the chimchar flung herself against her and set Munchie on fire._

With a screech, Munchie flung himself at his hay bedding on the ground and choked slightly, tears in his eyes from the intensity of that dream. He felt like screaming, but remembering all of his friends, and also the fact that he had an ugly scream for a girl, he didn't. Wait... wait—wasn't he a girl? Or... was he... what was he? She? Munchie's face bloomed red at the thought that she... he... it couldn't even remember its own actual gender. That... that had to be a problem. So, sucking in a breath, Munchie asked conscience whether the gender male or female was right. For some reason, she kept leaning for female... a girl, then? She seemed to have a thin enough composure for that. To be a pretty thin girl. A thin male munchlax would be sad, but a thin female munchlax might look like pretty or something? She didn't remember fashion or anything like that. Honestly, Munchie was guessing at this point.

"Munchie, what the hell? You look like you just swallowed my fucking fire tail! Damn, my friend!" Wait... that voice... it rung some rusty bell or another in her head. Then Munchie's face lit up all over again and she remembered that she was not a girl but a boy. How did someone manage to forget their own gender after having a dream? Then again... a dream that intense seemed very very capable of doing crazy stuff like that. Munchie continued choking on his own bedding that he apparently shared with his friend. Andrew. Yes, that was her name—wait no it wasn't, it was Ashley. Munchie's eyes started streaming and he coughed piteously. He didn't want to have another dream again. Never. "Shit, man, you look fucking twisted."

Rubbing through his wet orbs, Munchie's dull eyes fixated upon the chimchar staring incredulously at him with flaming orbs. They both, he saw, sat in slumped positions on the large hay bed spread out before them. It looked like Byrender should have been sleeping there, rather than them. "I had the weirdest dream." He tried to scramble for recollection. "There was... Jordan. And she had a mold beard. And the mold got everywh...where... And then, um... I looked in a frozen puddle, and it was in a cloud, and I thought I was a girl. And then you came up and said that my boyfriend was waiting for me. But that I was Spirit. And my head just really, really ached, but then I woke up and it was so confusing. I could hardly handle all the pressure that came down on me." True. It seriously ached, and still felt like a boulder'd just come out of nowhere and smacked him upside the head. As hard as Munchie looked, he couldn't find the boulder. "Oh, um... were we... sleeping in the same bedding? It kind of looks like Byrende—"

"Ohhh my fucking goodness Munchie he was supposed to sleep here, dammit! Well, no, not dammit, just... pffft... it was kind of funny. Byrender saw that you'd randomly passed out so he took the couple of other beds in here, mushed them together, and passed out." A long thumb directed backwards pointed out the slumped, brown figure snoring with its foot up and twitching in a deep sleep. Like he was kicking the air. "Then since he'd taken what was supposed to be where one pokemon and another should've gone, I decided to do the honers and share the big-as-shit bed right here with you. You're very fucking welcome. Smile for the Ashley." He didn't feel like smiling though, and it hurt to think of using his lips at all, until he remembered a stomach that had lost its appetite from the multifarious of Mystery Dungeons, of exploring and stumbling and so much, too much movement. But his priority, a sack of rumbling hunger, plopped into his metaphorical hands and it ached to think of how much he needed to consume food before his stomach consumed the next thing: himself. Oh, no, wait, he wouldn't go first: Ashley or Byrender would. Or the hay. Being a non-predatory pokemon with pointy-though-dull crooked teeth meant he kind of couldn't eat meat first. And he didn't want to! No way! Just... when a munchlax goes hungry, a munchlax goes rogue.

Flaming orbs blinked his way. "You look really fucking hungry. Wanna go get some shit from the shit hall or something?" Uh... were they even allowed to do that? Munchie wasn't really sure. The only time he'd eaten at this crazy place was when Spirit called everyone out and they feasted upon apples. Would it work that way? Can they just... can they..? "Geez. You also look really confused. Damn, it's like something came and cracked your eyes open. Like they're little blueberries letting out blueberry ooze—shit you're not crying are you? Fuck. I don't know how to stop you from crying." All Munchie needed to do was _flump_ out and hug the chimchar close to him. "Oookaaaaay? Uh... whatever the hell helps you." He liked knowing Ashley was helping him by just being herself. But then that stupid guild clogged his throat up; what had he done for her? "Well, I'd gone looking for Inf, who you'd heard me screeching about. And I didn't find him but I found these funny things that look long and squiggly and... blue. And green. Wonder what the hell they could be." She placed an assortment of squishy things in his face, that appeared sugary and longer than Ashley's fingers, even.

"Oh, those are gummis." Munchie felt proud of upholding this knowledge. That he could help her there. Awkwardly slumping back from the chimchar, wiping at the sleep crust around his eyes, he continued in his softer but husk-lifted tone. "You, like, can eat them. And they're really healthy, even though they're full of sugar and stuff. I heard that there's this nearby underground parlor place where they take berries and gummis and all of the sort and blend them into drinks. That sounds... pretty... interesting." He squinted at the leafy green and sky blue and fiery red bits of jelly-like sugar sitting there in front of him and in front of her.

Ashley nodded a little, like she was trying to pretend she understood what he had to say. "That makes complete fucking sense. And by that I mean what the hell is that supposed to... How the hell do they stay alive if they make drinks for other pokemon? What the fuck, man? I mean, how do... don't they have to have some sort of system or another?" She really... didn't understand how Zundentun worked. She really didn't get it. Ashley had completely never ever been here prior, and she freely showed this off. Because she trusted him; the weight mobbed him. But still he was so guilty about everything she'd done and he couldn't help her in Beach Cave, and yes, he was a complete idiot to continue reflecting on that. But it was all Munchie could do; sour, sickly, burbled guilt collected in him, choked him, with a gook-sounding choke: internal _gak, gak, gak._ Guilt just burbling in there, broiling, roiling, cooking up a storm and it consumed in him. As well did hunger, he recalled. And with a suddenly very brave face Munchie wouldn't have believed he could muster, could he see it, the munchlax could explain.

An entire life of eavesdropping plain old pokemon swarmed in his head. "It's really quite simple." And it was; the elder to elder to the earliest elders who had heard of other pokemon and their changing ways of life had picked up that Warldo, the most blossoming of the others, had some sort of thing called e-ko-ko-no-me. And they like used treasure and... pay-de others? With treasure? And had... johbes? And... worked? Like with the johbes? Something in that area. Way too big on this one word: _civilized._ But Munchie didn't reflect on that. Didn't matter. Maybe Ashley was confused, but he knew the Zundentun way. "Everyone does their part in the community, and everyone is connected that way. When everyone has a part, we all have time to do that thing to help others, and we also get stuff from the other parts of pokemon, and we have a lot of free time too. It works so well, it's great! So maybe Mambo Bao doesn't even have food, she just makes what other pokemon give her, it goes so that others get her whatever she might need. It all balances out!" Except for the munchlax that had no part in such society, he quietly reminded himself.

"Oooh, that's so fucking cool! What'd you do before where you are now?"

She had to ask that question. She just had to. Munchie's fur twitched, crawled, at the thought of explaining just what did Munchie do—nothing—and he coughed awkwardly. Even more guilt choked in him, and he felt like he'd overflow with it soon, and it was a bad, gritty, mucus-lined feeling that made him want to spit. Many spit. All of the spit. "I... uh..." Guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt dizziness overtook him but he forced himself to stay sitting, staring at Ashley, her flaming orange bangs cutting over forehead, the bob of hair twitching slightly around her head, her knot of hair in the back shifting as she moved a little one way, another way. No one was motionless. "I didn't... reallydoanything..." A disease. There we go: that was his role. To be the disease and avoid all other contact and shy away from others. He couldn't do anything anyways, he was so ugly and dumb and annoying and bad. He didn't know why Ashley kept looking at him, smiling a little, biting at her pale lip, then exploding into fiery laughter. A combustion of sorts, and his face reddened more. He sniffed.

"'Ey, it's cool—er, hot, man! I shouldn't have asked, sorry, now you're really sad... Uuughh...I'm fucking sorry. I keep shitting everything up. Such a dumb bitch." She just... used one of her curse words unto herself. Munchie couldn't get the idea of Ashley holding a sharp rock up to someone's throat then forcing it to herself and still smiling, winking a fiery orb his way. "Seriously. I've hit the shitter. I'm sorry, Munchie. I shouldn't have just gone and burst out like that."

Icky, slimy, revolting guilt. "No no! I'm just... the one pokemon who doesn't even... do anything. I kind of... live off of my own will. So I don't rely on anyone else... but I didn't have any friends... I didn't know anyone until you... Which is sad but... uh... It's... um... it's me." His face reddened more, and that lump in his throat grew like a stone from the kidneys, gone and stuck up in the windpipes for some strange reason. Munchie choked on that stone. If he got much more of that emotion—he didn't want to think of it. It hurt some. Started to make him lag, make him choke more, make his eyes stream. How was he going to pop that stupid thing? Did he need a drainage pipe or something to get it out of him? He didn't care; he wanted it gone. Gone gone gone: away with the guilt already. But it just kept choking him. And that was that.

Embarrassed, confused, and dizzy—and guilty—Munchie's eyes wandered the tunnel they camped in, since he hadn't seen much but his heaping pile of bedding prior. About them circled the usual, chocolatey brown walls with the chunks of silvery rock, and the ground had grass again, soft, springy grass, there was a window conveniently cut into the wall which revealed the time being midday. So the fact that Byrender was still sleeping in that huge hump of caramel fur, with his thick, barbed, darker-brown tail wrapping about him, buck teeth tottering up and down in whistling snooze meant that apparently... he'd sleep until tomorrow morning, then? So that no pour soul would end up nocturnal? Listening intently, Munchie could hear the _snuurrrrrfffs_ in all different tones of voice, and when he detected the simple, just leaning toward stuffy snore, he realized he could check up on Drynt and find out if the elgyem slept on the floor or in the air. The sudden notice of this sprung with an aching temple in his head, and he shook himself.

"Munchie, what'd ya hear?" His ears must have twitched or something for her to see that. Turning so that his mouth pointed closer to her face, trying to be easy on Ashley, as he always was, the munchlax smiled slightly. "I heard everyones' different snores. They're all so... lighter. Heavier. Lower. Higher. Snottier. Or breezy. It's weird."

Those flame orbs whizzed with sparks. "Hell, that's amazing! I don't know what the fuck any of you sound like, but just imagining it... pfft—fuck, that's interesting! So... uh. Right. You wanna stand around here, pass out, wake up and shit until it's morning again and these bozos are up, or like go try that Mam...whatever the fuck their name was. That place." She shook herself. "That place?" Tacking the question part at the end. Ashley... had just asked him what he wanted to do. She literally did care for his opinion, and his heart caught up in a tizzy and he swallowed that ball of salty shame for the time being. It'd show up again soon enough, but for now, it was just his newfangled burst of happiness. So many reasons to call all of these emotions newfangled. Well, except for the yucky, blundering ones like guilt and shame. Those always found their way in, especially in the old Munchie lifestyle. And apparently the new Munchie lifestyle too, at least when guilt swamped him for all he hadn't done for Ashley. Yeah, maybe he flapped his jaw and explained junk, but in the moments where he really mattered... when he should have reached out for her... it drove him insane. Yeah, he was getting a little more touchy; but touch still freaked him out. And Ashley did that all the time. And he always wanted to jerk back and it jerked in tears and he was awful.

"Munchie?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

"Yippeeeeeeee!" Whoa, she managed to go without cursi—"Fuck, yes." And nope, not quite. "This'll be a damn swell time. I am really fucking excited!" Yes, you look like it, Munchie mumbled silently to himself. Without moving his lips. Ashley read lips like some pokemon read their old mate's emotions. And this orange-fur limbed creature, long fingers and long toes already against the ground, ready to take off, glimpsing at him with those flaming orbs like he was her master and it was his call when they'd go, she was not an old pokemon with a mate. Just a strange sort of chimchar. Though he supposed everyone in this guild would be referred to as strange from the other pokemon. And that, he deliberated, was okay. He liked these guys way more than anyone else. "Okay come on dammit let's goooo!" She took off.

Blinking slowly like a fool, Munchie lifted his feet and scrambled on after her, panting slightly, dull orbs shining with what he hoped to be strength or pent-up energy ready to be let out. Probably just guilt, though. Guilt, for some strange reason, could make a creature's eyes really shine. Not exactly with tears. Just shine whatsoever. And oh, did it make Munchie queasy. He shook off the feeling and continued to pretend energy shimmered within him as he paced into the outside room of the scooping holes in the wall where everyone slept and the holy door where Spirit and Chindu slept behind and the scooping hole out to the mess hall. He clambered up the ladder offered, encountered the smaller map place, still stuck with maps sewed with green leaves, melding it all together quite nicely due to sap and then the markers to put up where the maps went, but he went up even further, lifted the flaps of Spirit Bright's guild entrance, and ran off into the high-up sun hanging out in the sky like the world was beautiful and not a skinny, shadow-like munchlax to be seen but he was. He flinched a little at that and continued moving on, because it really was all he could continue to do. He followed the bobbling flame of a tail protruding from Ashley and her scrabbling, now quadrupedal form, his feet making the _skish skish skish skish_ sound of feet moving in gritty pathway the colors of orange and brown mixed relatively well.

Down, to the left of the sloping hill, then down more and into the very heart of Treasure Town, where all the happy folk smiled and gossiped freely, Munchie wandered behind Ashley enough that he wouldn't come in contact in her but still easily saw her, even as his odd, fluffy, angular ears picked up the words of the other pokemon around there. This time around, he didn't catch words of secrets or affairs but a lot of the same thing, really. There was this shadowy green guy pokemon snorted over, how he'd replaced the thin munchlax running past them just then, and _I mean yeah we're happy he's gone to whatever buneary hole he's fallen to but seriously the grovyle ninja butthead thingy can't just go and replace him we don't want another of those suckers in our town it's beautiful and huge and we want all hard-working fellows. Just toss 'im in the guild, I say. That's where all the idiots should go._ Munchie silently corrected whoever just spoke all of that without even stopping to breathe—his chest ached at the thought of it—by thinking about just how idiotic his friends were, which made him think of the quite logical elgyem on his side and how he'd forgotten to check if Drynt did actually sleep while floating in the air. Darn it. He'd have to remember for later. Munchie tucked that little thought in his head nice and neat and tidy for whenever he could recall it again and find out.

Other voices that picked up in his head were of the usual things. Family members. Friends. Who was dating who. Who wanted to become mates already. Who liked—why were there so many topics on romance alone? Munchie shook himself. This one weird conversation was one asking the other what their favorite gummi flavor was, but apparently the other couldn't hear them very well, and they were blind, and they were very confused and very angry. He would've listened longer, just standing in the middle of the light brown-soiled pathway like a fool with his mouth agape, but long fingers snagged his furry arm and plowed him onward. Munchie hardly recognized this until it was too late and yanked back, squeaking profusely. Moments like this really did make him wish he was a skinny female munchlax. He might've fit the role a little better than where he was then. Would always be, as he saw it fit he'd never manage to get enough weight in him.

Crossing a few other roads, taking a barren lane, Munchie used the real pathway—not his sneaky side ones when he wanted to spy or just because they were his and no one else saw them—down to the shifted boulder in the ground of iron, large enough to reveal but not smother the hole that led with steps down, down, underground, to a cooled room of various shades of brown with wooden tables on the floor to use, much nicer than the guild's, and smoother, and also round, and some booth at the front of smooth pine wood with a spindly figure, long, lanky, red-spotted ears. Actually, her entire body had those red spots. She happened to be bipedal, and her eyes were odd, spindly colors that didn't sit still. Actually, she didn't sit still either, and spun around and around, a miniature hurricane that spun into Munchie's sight and sickened him. That was Mambo Bao. And she was a spinda, the spindliest of all spindas, no joke.

"Heeelooooooo, pokemoooonnnn~" she crowed, still going round and round. Her paws never left the ground and her hands opened freely, stretched like wings, spinning. Then out of nowhere she stopped and her freaky, multicolored gaze locked with his and Ashley's. Unlike Drynt's own gem-like eyes, those things made him freeze up. Plain freaky, no other words to describe it. "Suuuuup?" Mambo Bao pressed her head forward, lanky ears swinging, as she offered a chipper smirk and watched with those creepy eyes following Munchie and Ashley. He did not like that look. He did not like that spinda. Oh no.

"Oh, hell, yes! I like the way this bitch talks!" Ashley's own smirk sent her grinning cheekily. Squeaking at the sight of it, Munchie felt as if he had yet another reason to be different from her. And then yeah, he did. She liked Mambo Bao. The girl made him sick. But he still liked Ashley, of course, for some reason. His first friend, that chimchar, as aggravating as she could go, she was still Ashley, and he still liked her. "So... mmmmmmm... we've got... this." An unruly _splat,_ and Ashley's outstretched hand dropped the slightly-sweaty clump of gummis. "So how the hell does this work?"

Mambo Bao watched creepily, then snatched all of the freaking gummis with one of her tiny, pale hands and mashed them together rather melodramatically, giggling at each _squerch, squerch, squerrrchhhh_ noise. Her multicolored orbs sparked out on their own, twirling eagerly in different mixtures of colors, from purple to gray to a bright, milky, sickening white, then red like there's nothing wrong. Then blue. Which was a little more normal. Also Munchie had blue eyes, so he could understand that; though Ashley did have that strange, fiery mix of orbs that related to the red earlier; but Munchie didn't want to think of it. Fuzzy dusky blue hands rose and covered the hope-rimmed orbs with more dull dark colors, like he was the shadows the others talked like he was of. Ashley, on the other hand, was not a shadow but a bright almost terrifying firework that sparkled on its own. He was the shadow beside it. But he liked Ashley, and Ashley liked him, and there was peace. There wouldn't always be peace, but there was then.

Once that sickening spinda moved her paws off of his chimchar friend's gummi paste thing—thing—that utterly disgusted him, she mashed the mixture into a little, wooden cup drawn with a hasty spiral of purples and pinks, and twirled around some more, and stopped. "And dooneeee!" Mambo Bao pawed the cup over to the left of the booth, where Ashley impatiently waited, long fingers tearing into the milky-colored wood with a _scraaaaaaannnch._ Then she dropped it in favor of the cup and seemed ready to dunk the entire mix into her face but stopped, hesitated. Turning toward the shadow-like munchlax beside her, she mumbled a few hesitant words—and curses—and pointed awkwardly to the top of the cup. Sample it. Try some. She was giving him a bit of it to taste. Squeaking, Munchie took the cup in his shaky hands and found it a smooth, gentle surface that was a little hard to grip at first, but he grew used to it as the swirling mixture of blue, red, and green drew up to his lips and he swallowed a small portion. Good seemed a little like an understatement as the sudden rush of colors and fiber and anti-indigestion kicked in, sending quite the flavorful mixture up his mind where the sugar rush was resting until it set up by the smack and Munchie fell straight to the floor on his knees. _WHUMP._ Ashley, giggling beside herself, scooped up her cup and tried it herself. _Sluuuuuuuuuurrrr—puh._

Licked her lips. Looked thoughtful. Then, "HOLY HELL. I have NEVER BEFORE IN MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE TASTED SOMETING THIS HOLY." Then she crashed into the ground, straight on her face, and Munchie winced at the crack of tooth on floor. She didn't spit any of the small, neat, little nubs in her maw, but his own crooked slits ached at the sound of what hers must have felt. The sickly sweet scent of that gummi mix spiraled up his nostrils, and he nearly fell on his face too. Somehow Munchie balanced on the balls of his knees. No one could see them underneath his layers of shifty blue fur, but he sure felt how jarred they were that point on, a _jolt_ tearing from the tongue he'd bitten to those knees. "SHIT." Aaaand she was done. "FUCKING SHIT." Nope, then she was—"BITCH FUCKING MORSELS OF PURE ASS JOY." He couldn't tell any more when Ashley would finish. A cute little baby burp boomed from her mouth. Was she done? Probably. Maybe. He was done guessing and failing. In the corner of his eyes, Mambo Bao was shoving her paws into her mouth and loudly slurping all of the juices off. Thank goodness he'd only had a small lick of taste, because his appetite only went downhill from there. Yes, a munchlax could lose his lunch. Not often, but that disgusting spinda could have made him barf right then and there. He didn't, though. Not then.

And again a shock wave—what had he done for her..? For Ashley..? Snorting, trying to conceal a sniffle, Munchie decided he'd one day get over this guilt somehow. Figure it out. Do something. He'd... get over not touching her. It'd take awhile, but Munchie had to. This guilt wallowing inside of him was relying on it. Yes. Reliance. On him. He sucked in a breath, pulled himself to the ground again, and with his feet safely on cool, packed dirt, Munchie brought a hand toward the deaf chimchar in front of him, still collapsed. His eyes caught her hands, flung weakly in front of her, the cup dribbling a small residue of the sticky, sweet mixture. Munchie was tempted to lick the rest of it out but decided against it. Right. Mambo Bao. Right. Help Ashley up. He could... do... this. Hand extended, shivering, shaking, he would move downward slowly and snatch her hand up and therefore pull the orange smudge of a chimchar up to her long toes. He chewed on his lip with those crooked teeth, brooded over it. Brooded over what? All he had to do was move his stupid fingers. Munchie, _move your fingers. Move them down. Come on, come on..._

They inched downward a little. Just the slightest. Yes. He scooted them further. Yes yes yes. Just a... a lot more. And he'd be down on the floor, and he'd help his friend up—he could do this. Yes yes—oh. Oh no. What was he thinking? This was a horrible idea and he would be so so hated for this he was dumb and ugly and no don't do this Munchie stop. And he scrambled back and fell on his rump and sighed slowly, falling back down onto his back, eyes widening and shrinking then dilating again at a slow, inconsiderate pace. His head throbbed. What he'd just done... was he so close, or so far? Or... How come he couldn't do anything for Ashley? Why did he have to be so... dumb? So mean to her? It smashed his heart open. He'd never be able to do anything for the poor girl... and no matter how badly he wanted to, she'd never realize... It killed him on the inside. Smacked his heart right open and fell out of his hand. Dumb Munchie. Stupid Munchie. And he stayed there, flat on his back, until Ashley stirred, Mambo Bao stopped creepily slurping on her hands, and he tried to hide his emotions. Ashley must have felt something was up—she wasn't stupid—because she was quieter on their trip back to the guild, maybe a little colder. He didn't listen to what anyone had to say about the green ninja butthead or any other affairs, or anything. He just felt heavy and terrible.

Time passed.

Munchie and all of his buddies of Spirit Bright got into a few scuffles, he saw, but not all too many. All cheerful banter that meant nothing. Mystery Dungeons were explored rather regularly after the wigglytuff was completely assured that nobody had gone nocturnal. There was not another chore-like time from what he saw, realizing everyone procrastinated for the last possible moment, against Drynt's or Chindu's not very hidden grunts about how they should, and no one did anyway, as if they were being ignored—though they weren't. It just seemed like Spirit Bright wasn't much up for chores. He and Ashley slept in the scoop of a cave with Byrender, and they would continue to sleep in that area until another chore-like day occurred and the beds were accidentally-on-purpose rearranged. Byrender, even in sleep, had a deep, jolly sort of snore that was comforting to listen to if either he or she randomly woke in the middle of the night. Ashley found it amusing as well; Munchie just saw it... nice. Strange, sure, but he found it nice. The snoring. Byrender's voice was always in perfect tempo, and he didn't seem to realize how popular and beautiful it was, but that just made it seem even better. A real and natural beauty, oddly enough.

Spirit only introduced Munchie and Ashley to the nearer places first, and always, always, the whole guild went to places together. They did disappear a few times, and sometimes Ashley would disappear too, and she'd come back grumbling about _Influence_ or just _Inf_ , whoever he or she happened to be. If that even was a pokemon at all. It sort of, just... sounded like it, odd enough, even with that funky sort of a name. Influence. Munchie had this bad, sinking feeling she liked Influence a lot, and if Munchie went missing, she wouldn't be crowing about him like that, no way. Then again, he felt that way about everything. But still, that especially. Even his... closest friend. Sad. Sad of him. Oh well.

Jordan and Mystic and Drynt and Byrender and Chindu and Spirit, with Ashley and Munchie, saw the plains of the Foggy Forest, and something after it that held a sheen of rainbows. They heard the whispers in the Brine Cave and felt swirling, burning flames of the Northern Desert. The Southern Desert, who they called the older sister, lay a tangled, twisting mass far below that Spirit deemed fairly obvious he had no hope of going to. For some reason, they avoided going on those rounds and the Waterfall Cave, pretty as it was, specifically. Munchie found an odd liking to the shining waves dashing down by the flow of gravity and verses of nature, and the silvery cave melded as one to shining edges. He just did. And yet they didn't go back. He'd tried asking little blue-finned Mystic why, but her head shook like this was seriously annoying to her. He didn't think the mudkip found anything annoying, having a chance to gabble the most especially. But it looked as if she wanted to spill. Spirit, at those times, especially had something funky clogged up in those cloudy, green orbs.

Munchie hated that part of him, that eavesdropper part of him, but he could just tell they were hiding something big, shifty, and heavy, something incredibly important about the guild, from him and Ashley. But they wouldn't even spill. Not a little. And Waterfall Cave continued to be voided like the plague, like the plague he'd thought he was. Still... he felt as if there was something with those pokemon of Spirit Bright, no matter what went on, they couldn't say. He wanted to know, wanted to be united with those guys, but they felt obliged to stay silent. It made him sad. And that surprised him; was he a disease now? Now that... these emotions really choked on him. Guilt and anger especially hardened. He was upset about something, and it boiled, and... ugh. Just... _ugh._ Munchie blinked tired eyes. Days bore on, and he couldn't tell what to feel. It eked up inside of him, pent up, spilling with other internal emotions.

And then suddenly something snapped because he was alone again and he hated it, he hated being alone, hated being flung apart like this by the other pokemon and having to call out for them and have one of them find him. Yep—he was right. It'd happen, but it fizzed over and howled a wicked storm in him that he couldn't keep his fingers wrapped around, couldn't control even. His heart was seized in a tizzy and he didn't want this to happen anymore, tired of just sitting around and letting this happen to him without doing anything. "Aah... why do thiss..? Why... do... this..." Guilt seeped in him like a sponge coalesced his figure and you know what: the sponge was too full to handle it, this time around. "A- _auUGH!"_ Guilty for missing them, for wanting to be with them when he couldn't always, for having friends and then screwing it up, doing all of this, he cried out in spite of himself and his hand crumpled against a wall of watered-down stone. Drenched Bluff. They were in Drenched Bluff. Munchie's mouth screwed up and he punched the wall again, couldn't take it. "Why do you have to leave me?" he wailed softly to himself. It was like claws stabbed through his heart and worked at disconnecting it and they didn't even know hearts couldn't be disconnected.

"There you are, my favorite fucker!"

"Stop... stop leaving m _e alreaAADY!"_ Munchie didn't really feel it, but she did.

"Uh, what? I always do this. And you're always fine with it. Hell, everyone disappears for some reason. You know why I do, not a damn thought why they do. And I thought you were okay. You look fine. Don't you feel fine? Good enough? Yo—"

"No." Simple. "No, I... Ashley, stop it!" Her attitude lit up in him. "Stop it! Stop being so casual and sassy and uncaring! I have feelings, and you all just... just..! Look at you! I hate being left out! I've... I don't! I don't like this, I don't like you, I don't want to care and now I do and it's killing me!" He could hardly tell what he was saying, just that words fell out and charred his heart with every screech. " _YOU ACT SO CASUAL LIKE I DON'T MATTER! DO I MATTER, THEN? DO I EVEN... DO I?"_ He couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel... something... Something sticky and knobby in his throat. Couldn't feel it. Coughed. Guilt. Fire. Anger.

"A-ah! Munchie! What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"YOU ALL KEEP DISAPPEARING ON ME AND I HATE IT! I FEEL LIKE YOU'RE ALL JUST HIDING THINGS AND IT SPITES ME AND..." He sucked in a breath, turned around, head rested against the soppy walls, feet grinding over tears and over water. Mumbled a few words. Mumbled them louder, though she read him fine. "Go away."

"Munchie..?"

His mind lashed out, lashed at him, lashed at him, flogged him, hit him, bit him. "Go away. Go away. Go away." He took a step back blindly, bumped into something, spat out the words again. "Go away. Go away." And he ran off before she could lift a finger to anything about it. Down slippery corridors, past the idiot bumbling pokemon, over cliffs that shocked him with pain as he fell down, jolted through his bones, and he kept on going. Water seeped into his limbs, made him feel the chill like a bite of poison. Cuts scraped over his cheeks until a patchwork of red—yes, red—messed clotted him and his mouth ached from doing nothing. His knees could easily be seen by the colorful assortment of bruises lining them. Tears came and went. Emotions swerved. Munchie felt terrible, and he couldn't figure out why, he just kept going. Didn't run into anyone and eventually fell out of that Mystery Dungeon and slipped through to another. And another. And another. He didn't even stop to name them as Chindu'd taught them to, just kept going. His eyes watered and something sucked on his throat from the inside. It was cold and sad and angry at him, angry at everything. He was angry too. At himself. He didn't know why but he was and it felt righteous.

Munchie didn't stumble upon any food. His stomach gnawed hungrily at something inside of him, and he cried a lot still. Emotions left in fleeting glimpses and he ached. He just ached. Everything ached. Life was washed out of his eyes and all that remained were the eggshell-blue lines, like rings on a planet, that held into his orbs because they couldn't leave, not even if he wanted so badly. They'd never leave his eyes. Munchie didn't feel very hopeful but he looked like he did, and he didn't. His pangs and aches came and went, and he spent more time sleeping than moving at some point, but found something icky and purple on the floor, hard as a rock, gnawed at it, and then he was moving again. Grimy tongue from the arid taste licked at a dry mouth, dry lips, dry, crooked teeth: always crooked.

Where was he? Munchie immediately from even the slight training he'd had from Spirit Bright could label it as the Landslide Cave—why so many caves—and he had no idea how long he'd been out, but everything had started aching in one go. He choked on his own spit and tears and blood and whatever other fluids contaminated him. He felt like he'd been crying a lot but that he'd stop now and he'd be okay. He also missed his friends. It pounded in him. The guilt he'd been idiotically storing had all but deserted him, all but the seed of Beach Cave. He wanted to be nicer to Ashley again, but it was less a guilt and more a need, a want, to... be kinder to her. He hated that shock of emotion he'd seen on her little, pale face when he yelled at her and ran off and he felt horrible then, too. He missed jovial, outgoing Byrender, and cynical Jordan, sweet, glittery Mystic, and soft-spoken Drynt. He missed the gay leader and next-in-command. He missed them, but he'd been crying so long about so much that he couldn't muster much else but a weak sigh. "I should go look for them now." And it was decided. Right then. He would go look for them now. Shaking his twisted head and sticky, dusky fur, Munchie weakly blinked his hope-rimmed orbs and smiled crookedly to himself on the musty ground filled with odd, jubilant music. He could've sworn a second ago it was a mournful whisper, but then _bam_ not so likely.

Wandering with aim, with real aim and real reason, Munchie croaked to himself, gently coaxed his soft voice with the husk to come back out again, and eventually he could whisper to himself, then bloomed and he could talk in that soft tone and he smiled to himself even at the tiny accomplishment of his own crummy voice recovering. The aches and pains quickly demolished, as Mystery Dungeons quickly healed—thank goodness, as everyone always accumulated enough scratches to kill a handful of small bugs in there and would be in bad conditions throughout if not for the quick recovery—and the cuts, and the bruises, and everything else, withered, until Munchie was left with smooth, silky fur again, the color of the ocean at midnight. He smiled to himself. Better. Then... there was that problem, and it sunk to his stomach.

Would... they still like him? After deserting Ashley like that? Being so... mean and rude to everyone? Would they like him or hate him now? He shuddered, because he saw the outcome very well. Hate blew into his ears like a stream of fire. He shuddered again, but shuffled on, because he still wanted to make amends and apologize and hear them out and let them torch him with their anger. He wanted to be... nice like that. Sort of. Munchie wanted to let them do whatever they deemed fit to him. Maybe... he'd befriend that green ninja butthead. They could be lonely together and live through their lonesome lives not alone but with the other. Yeah, but... he... really liked those guys... and now he was going to say good-bye to them because he was so dumb... Munchie didn't like that. He tried to stifle a sniffle, but it didn't really work and he coughed on a sob, started choking on it. It was sad. Real sad. Pathetic of him.

But he had nothing else to do, so Munchie wandered on, hoping they maybe might like him a little bit still. Maybe a little. He sauntered out of the Landslide Cave and its warped music and yellowed halls, then fumbled through a small Steam Cave route filled with orange cracks and steam and all of that wet stuff, jumped past any sides of Waterfall Cave, remembering what Spirit had said, and continued searching onward. He didn't go near the north, since he'd last seen his friends relatively close by—Drenched Bluff was only... slightly north of their home, so he saw no reason to try Northern Desert, little sister of Southern Desert. And no, he wasn't checking the elder of them either. Both deemed bad ideas that probably wouldn't work anyways. No. Wouldn't work whatsoever.

Munchie began treading past this meadow area with daisies he hadn't seen prior, but recalled what its name was... well. What do you know—Tiny Meadow. Yep, that had to be it. Blueberry Park, if he recalled correctly, was to the right somewhere. His right, from where he stood. And the Apple Woods must have been nearby as well. Chindu kept heavily hinting they might need to restock soon, which Munchie found crazy because how many apples did they have in that mess hall already? But... they'd go there, if they ever needed it. Munchie didn't understand how Chindu could be considering that. How... when... would they ever need more of those apples? Shaking his head giddily, Munchie's eyes traced and suddenly the wind was out of him and something slumped over and red glinted by his chest and turquoise like curtains billowed over him. An embrace; a hug. Squirming, Munchie might have fallen out of that grip if it wasn't so... killer. Like... someone he knew. He took a glance at the red dagger in the chest, realized that he shouldn't look there _this was a lady, Munchie, for crying out loud,_ and he laughed awkwardly.

Jordan just pursed her lips and muttered, "Where have you been? We've been worried sick." They... what? "Munchie, we've been searching all over for you. Chindu even got crazy enough to search Northern Desert. We... oh my goodness we were so worried about you. We haven't even seen Ashley yet, but last I'd heard... her face was ashen and she was really... upset. And she said she was looking for you, so said Byrender, but she ran off." Oh... no... he'd upset her... His heart, like a stone, hit rock-bottom and sank and filled with holes. "Thank goodness you're not harmed anywhere. Oh... my gosh... I told Spirit we should just let you guys in, but he has to be so careful about who to tell that... it's hard. I felt like we should, Byrender felt like we should, the others felt like we should, but there's also how careful we have to be. I... we have to find the others, but I can quickly let you in. I trust you. We all trust you. You should have seen how much Drynt was crying"—wait, Drynt was crying? He actually... had tears in his eyes because..? Him?—"I'm so thankful. You're definitely part of us.

"Basically, the Mystery Dungeons are a lot more important than you'd think they are. There's a spoke in the middle of Zundentun, in the midst of all of these Mystery Dungeons, so it's kind of far off from that little point of Treasure Town. It's surrounded by some strange... very strange lands, but in different parts of Zundentun, there are... these things. Time gears. They're... basically the same color as a greenie's eyes. Or Spirit's eyes. And there's one in... a few different places. Bad things are supposed to happen if they aren't maintained or go missing. And we don't know what happens if we lose that spoke, by losing those time gears, and we really don't want to. So we disappear to protect them."

They...

They...

"Munchie, we need to find the others."

He nodded numbly. They did. His head ached. He blinked to himself quietly. Yeah. They did. His head hurt. Yep. Yeah. Ow.

 **Me: Aah... thank you Jordan for ending that.**

 **Jordan: don't mind if I do~**

 **Me: hwaah, so regal and cool.**

 **Jordan: Uh okay.**

 **Me: yes.**


	4. Influential Chimchars

**Me: YAY WE'RE DRIVING BACK HOME NOW. I have.. like... two entire days to just do whatever while sitting around in a car. This seems like the absolute perfect time to write.**

 **Ashley: Well you're wrong.**

 **Me: what**

 **Ashley: THE BEST TIME TO WRITE IS NO TIME AT ALL HAHAHA BITCH**

 **Me: … well I can't argue with that. It seems there is no time. -turns off laptop-**

 **Ashley: … -stares at the screen- Shit.**

 **Munchie: -eye twitches-**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Four: Influential Chimchars

It was like magic—like those accursed Mystery Dungeons that had, in fact, separated him so far from Ashley—when a memory unfolded like a scroll from the bug-bitten wall of his mind and slapped him upside that head as he recalled a time in one of those exact Dungeons when Munchie had been sauntering on, awkwardly, accidentally flaunting the furs about him, feeling like a dumb nincompoop, and Drynt had turned his multicolored eyes, tittered softy, and smiled at the sight. Right: he smiled at Munchie. He was thinking that scroll memory that he cherished over very correctly: _smiled._ And as Jordan's own face, just as she stood and began to twirl to the front, turquoise fronds fluttering like glamorous feathers, her eyes still invisible to the munchlax, he caught a miniscule glimpse of her sharp—they could be sharp, oh they could—lips upturned. Happy. That expression right there, it meant happy. Pleased. Whatever: _smiled._ A smile. Munchie would have sung out of joy if his voice could have supported it. But it didn't, and he knew better than to test such a theory.

Jordan's pointy white toes made little crunching pinches as they tiptoed into grasses and outside of the meadow area. See, there was a reason they called it Tiny Meadow. Dappled sunshine pleasantly sifted into the springy green plains from above in eggshell blue horizon. He saw that in some patches, in a few splotches, the actual sky covered the Mystery Dungeon ground. The actual sky, if he recalled correctly, was another sort of magic, like the sun and the moon and whatever. In a way, everything was magic. But also not really; the sun's and moon's magic lit up the sky at day or night to paint their up-high canvas however they felt like for the time being they were up and running. Still, actual sunshine... it reminded him of the pokemon back in Treasure Town who must be seeing the exact same sky right then, idly gossiping and not wondering about Mystery Dungeons because they hated Mystery Dungeons and lived in the single uncontaminated part of Zundentun for a reason, you'd think.

Then why the heck did a guild live so close to the awkward clump of a town? Why not near that kingdom Mystic was princess i—Fyshyngtyn, that: why? Perhaps because everyone had run away from one part of their musty pasts or another, and this ended up proving the best shade from it. Then one thing led to another, which led to a lot of different paths and other things leading just to that one another thing, if any of that even made sense, and thus, Bright Spirit opened. Spirit started up, apparently Byrender showed, then Chindu officially joined as next-in-command, maybe only because Spirit was his mate, who knew, but then Jordan showed, then Mystic, then Drynt, now Munchie and Ashley has as well. In an odd sort of way, this seemed a very effective version to find just the right pokemon to do that important thingy. For those... gears? Gears that... something. Very important gears that held the fate of the universe. Well, not really fate, if fate even existed: just the basics. Whether or not everyone died. That seemed to chalk it up relatively well. See how effective this was going? Everything connected and nothing fit. There were gears. The gears did stuff. The world was a great globe of blue waters and green lands that connected due to the power of friendship.

Wait.

Munchie stopped thinking for a moment and covered his dusky blue face with dusky blue hands, groaning slightly. He'd double-crossed himself a few times somewhere and now his head hurt. Feeling incredibly stupid, Munchie tried to blink beneath layers of blue and somewhat succeeded. His eyes had been poked by a few aimless strands of blue, but besides that, he felt pretty good. Maybe a little proud of himself. No, probably not. The munchlax began growling to himself in scrunched up pale lips, his crooked teeth angled like outstretched fangs or something demonic like that, and he removed his hands in order to see the female gallade crossing her scythe-like arms and grunting softly to herself. They had their own little symphony going. "Hmm... I'd take a gander and say we've stumbled off excessively far away from where we were," mumbled she in her sharp, dark-laced tone, toes now fully pinched against the ground in a thoughtful manner. "We were in Drenched Bluff... which is pretty close to Beach Cave, but some north and some east. So none of the townsfolk actually know of it. Good thing too. If they were walking over here and stumbled onto one of those cliffs..." Her shoulders tensed and looked to be snippets of snowy cliffs gently showered by seaweed: her hair.

"Ah!" Her angular head shook a bit. "Got distracted a little." Mm, he observed, a very focused and responsible girl who didn't like steering off-topic, but when she did, still careful and insightful. Chindu was actually right. She'd make a good mom one day. "We need a path to Drenched Bluff, preferably short and gentle. Unfortunately, we can only get one of those. Munchie, if we had to choose betwixt a safe and gentle route or the one that will get us to our friends as fast as possible, which would it be?" Obviously the safe and gentle route, but Munchie decided faster than that it'd be better not to offer his particular opinion. "We'll have to get there soon as we can, no matter what it looks like out there. Ever wanted to see a volcano?" Not in particular. Actually, no, how about we don't go to the volcano. Munchie's ears flattened which was a soft _pouf_ of noise Jordan thankfully didn't catch. "Good. That's where we're headed, if we want to get there alright." No thank you. "Come, my friend, let us be off." No no no no no no no. Here's an idea. Jordan, you go your crazy murder route. Munchie, you go off and see if the longer route might have one of their friends just perhaps on it because they don't like the thought of evil volcano and losing their life either. Just maybe.

Not quite. Jordan took one nod toward those huge legs of hers—well, everything about her was huge though maybe not her eyes—saw the difference of hers and Munchie's, calculated how much of a change that would give them in pace, then mumbled an apology and snagged him right off the ground with her long, scythe-like arms and Munchie sawed just about through his lip at the screech trying to bubble through that someone just touched him with their hands on his chest and back and he did not take being touched by another being very well no he did not. If it was any relief, Jordan used her big scary arms with the sharp finger edges very gingerly when handling Munchie. She didn't want to freak him out, or harm him, and he knew that, he just didn't like the result of her options anyway, even if it was the only one and a pretty good one at that. Munchie at least wouldn't be walking. He'd be the prized possession hugged to the gallade's chest—oh, female chest, oh, oh no—with the red blade in the middle of it—this idea was getting worse the more he thought about it—and he'd... be... uh... safe. The word swallowed down his throat like a reluctant stone. Stones were reluctant enough as it was: they were stones, for goodness sake. This one was a mighty wallop to Munchie's esophagus, then stomach. The mucus slide in his gut must have been angry.

Muttering another apology, Jordan swished her hair back in a turquoise wave of flavorful color and hooked Munchie safely—sort of—with one long, green blade of a hand while the other held itself out and swung like a sword, a beware sign anyone could read. Well, except for the blind. Because they were, like, blind and stuff. Unless the blind pokemon was right in front of his friend's hand and felt that whiff of air from the motion, but then again the movement was kind of slight and the air wouldn't generate enough or be obvious that yep, that's a sword swing, stand back. He started wishing that nobody blind was nearby at the moment. That would be a health hazard for the poor, poor soul. Either way, whether or not the enemies were blind, nobody tormented them, and Jordan saw no reason to cleave someone of their head or other precious body part.

Munchie quietly wondered to himself why greenies even existed in the first place if they didn't do anything or serve a purpose. A punch settled in his gut when he recalled he didn't serve a purpose either. Then one of those gold-lined scrolls of memoir from what memories he had now swung out and fanned like Jordan's pretty hair, and this rolling memory showed that past punch up because now Munchie was part of the guild, and he had a reason, and he was special. Well, no, special was a bit of a push, he probably wasn't really special, he was a disease if anything, but he had a reason. And a reason was better, absolutely better, than nothing at all. Munchie, smiling through crooked teeth, began to wonder if Jordan would question the sudden beam. His dark, gaudily-hope-lined orbs—he blinked extra at that—upturned and caught a quick glimpse of Jordan's jawline and that she wasn't pointing her face near him and seemed currently unable to smile. Very unable. He wouldn't ask her anything with that grim look stuck to her face, not even if she'd like free candy. Jordan didn't look like the kind of pokemon to... enjoy candy, as it was.

If Munchie ever wanted anything out of her, he'd use apples. Thinking of the succulent fruit that Spirit kept such an astronomical abundance of—with a huff, the gallade quickly swerved by a lonesome tree in the midst of thorny plains that had an oddly green, bristly sky. Yep, there sure as heck were places where not even the sun would shine in Mystery Dungeons. That little catchphrase, when made to sound smoother, was the exact excuse pokemon of cheery old Treasure Town used to keep them out of anything as disgusting as such dungeons. _I mean, how could something be, like, healthy, without the sun?_ Munchie didn't know, but he saw enough that Mystery Dungeons didn't harm him. Spirit the strangely-colored wigglytuff looked mostly fine—actually no he didn't—Chindu the normal, rainbow-filled and black-outlined chatot with the nice birdy red beak looked fine, as if all his time in Mystery Dungeons hadn't fried him. It was a myth he wasn't always gay, but that wasn't a disease Mystery Dungeons gave you, right? Oh, no no, that was mean, Munchie. Real smooth, stupid. He would have slapped himself if his arms didn't feel so cold, numb, frozen, and otherwise gaudy with Jordan's one securing them down like she meant to chop his upper body off. He trusted that poor girl enough, but, well, she was a gallade. A girl. A gallade. He had to be careful, it was in pokemon code. Sort of. No one seemed to think Spirit's off wigglytuff colors were something to be careful enough. Maybe the munchlax should just shut up and stop. Yeah, maybe.

Over prickly fields that began safely fixated on a dark green earth then started sloping upward, soon attached by low, thick, burly clouds that brought in spines of green light. Zapping, green light. He didn't like the zapping green light very much. Made him freaking nervous. Did his spindly warrior lady with a body built for both war and feminine woes drop him with her long, scythe-like arms, he could easily be hit by an onslaught of those thunderbolts. Lightning bolts. Their correct term inserted there: they were _green,_ let the sickly munchlax call them what he wanted to. And where was the rain? Just... pine needle shocks of green lightning that smelled an awful lot like pollution. And a boiling stench of heat, what must be the zapping shock of electricity, and also a faint trickle of embarrassment. Why embarrassment, he didn't know. Munchie smelled what he smelled. Sometimes it was better not to question why exactly one smell over another. Either way, not mattering what was in that mix in the first place, Munchie's nose squeezed and his stomach curled. Something acid in taste and scent seemed to fit those green monsters of lightning perfectly well. Also, they were way too close to the ground—why the heck were the clouds lingering that low? Did they want to hit someone? Did they want to barbecue the elegant, pretty, slightly terrifying Jordan and her carry-on munchlax? Did they have a problem with those kinds of things? Did bolts of tiny, deadly, green lightning have problems? Munchie felt like he should stop making such big, vague questions.

The air drifted in like a bad pokemon. Like a certain dull-eyed lumineon and her mate the octillery: they didn't actually show up, but the air stank of it. Maybe some large specimen had peed here recently. Hopefully not. Munchie didn't want his poor friend to be stepping around in some other monster's monstrous urine puddle. That upset him a little: he actually had a friend and look at what the poor girl was doing, taking out the possible pee walk which he felt for certain wasn't the truth. Still... Jordan, here... his _friend..._ Munchie shook himself, tried to convince that flimsy nonexistent stalk of self-confidence of nonexistent growing in his heart that he didn't have to cry about it. To be strong. To... be cool like that. Confident. Those big, thought-invoking, powerful words. He tried and succeeded for a couple of moments. Munchie stopped counting after that, feeling unreliably pleased about himself. The scruffy munchlax soaked in layers of sea-blue and beach-pale fur shook himself again and focused on the shiny, green arm that could potentially kill him did it drop him.

Up lumpy, steep hills pouring into further, taller ledges that fanned out to plateaus then, guess what, only drew on higher, Munchie felt as if his feet would fall of. He wasn't even walking, but staring down at Jordan's tiny, white toes sent aching trills up his own. She had to have been moving on for some time now, but she still refused to quite. Turquoise hair trickling whatever direction it felt like, or whatever direction the now-freer air permitted, her bangs still lay flat on her face and didn't how off irises. Or eyes, for that matter. She had them; Munchie had yet to see them. By this time of knowing the gallade, he just wanted to ask her. It seemed trivial, like that old notion of whether or not Drynt slept floating in the air: he, in fact, did. Even though he had a hay bed sitting there below his snoozing, suspended figure. Either way, the whole not-showing-off-eyes seemed just as trivial, so Munchie felt his dumb, curious mind could have asked it did he not feel like he'd be treading on matters of personal space. Jordan was a girl, therefore many questions were considered rude to ask her. It was difficult times.

Without another care, up up up. Toes pinched when they did, though now the gallade girl grew customary to taking large leaps at a time, waiting a moment, then taking one or some more. The briars had bloomed to full-out heat-streaming cracks in the ground that melded with flame and rock. The skies had cleared above, as the fogs seemed prone to the ground areas only. Weirdo Mystery Dungeons. Finally, with that notion, Munchie luckily stumbled on a question he actually could ask such a proper and scary lady, and lady nevertheless. "Uh... what're all these Mystery Dungeons called?" he mumbled softly. "I've hardly seen... any of them! Um. Much less heard... oh-p-please. Please could you tell me." He had to tack on manners, hasty or not.

"Mm..." Jordan, thinking, silent at the time, still leaping all the same. She didn't take in a pant of breath. Maybe she hated her parents for making her so like that, but seriously dear arceus was she powerful nobody should ever get in this girl's way. More hops, more silent strokes in the clearer sky, which was the color of running blood. Munchie felt queasy taking glimpses with that thing lurking above him, making the world look like the end had come. It... hadn't. Yeah. Probably. Maybe. They still wouldn't go to the Waterfall Cave again and you know what that really set off Munchie's nerves: that one little tidbit added up to how the sky was blood-red didn't bode well with the poor, unceremoniously thin munchlax. "Where we just trudged up from, those were the Rolling River Bends, with its strange accumulation of breaks and cracks and the like. Makes it appear as if once there was water or a stream of sorts winding down from the top of this volcano here."

The way her last bout of speech had gone gave Munchie a pat on the head. She'd said that _we just trudged,_ not that she just trudged, _I just trudged._ Jordan had included the weak munchlax strung from her arms, and admittedly, bashfully, yeah, that made him feel special. Munchie tried to shake off the feeling, but it was slightly more stubborn than a certain chimchar he knew... relatively well? He... he knew her. That was all he had to say about that certain chimchar. Also he missed her. Munchie wanted to find her and hug her and let her know he was sorry, then probably let her go since he wasn't good at touching others and vice-versa, but seriously, Munchie felt cold sores of guilt, of no, determination, swarming inside of him. He had to find her again, apologize, find the others, apologize, do something. He... missed them. _He missed them._ Munchie... had other entities in his head and he wanted to find them. And apologize. Always apologize—but he wanted to be with them. He seriously did, felt it hard and cold like a throb in his heart, beating at the tune of his agony, clicking together other bits of angst and frustration and fear and a knot of sinewy distress preyed on his weak self.

"And I'd say we're about to file into the cords of Pine Nut Volcano. It's not a bad place, though the sky looks more than slightly foreboding. I assure you that I've been through this pass enough times to be eligible to say that no, it's not as freaky as it appears. The sky is just... red. Harmless." It sure as heck didn't look harmless, but Munchie knew better than to argue with someone like Jordan. Or just Jordan. Pretty much. "I'd safely presume that the cracks in the ground must be from old lava streams from the volcano herself. Spirit always affectionately called her Morgan, so we roll with it, as I'm sure Byrender has said to you prior." So they used each others' catchphrases sometimes. Munchie didn't find that the least bit helpful, but it sounded kind of cute. He should make a catchphrase so the others could copy it too. "After we traverse across the peak..." The softly dark voice rolled into a gentle, relaxing lull, as if she was softly whispering to the wind. Only Jordan was talking to Munchie, and he felt oddly comforted. He... really did like these friends of his. "Mm... then we'll have to go down... and around... run a little more... then we should find Drenched Bluff. Munchie, we tunnel onward, and once we cross that top of the volcano, we'll be out. We'll almost be there. We'll be with them again. Reunited."

It was on his mind. It burst. There was nothing he could have done. "Will we be able to pass by the Waterfall Cave?" Munchie couldn't stop thinking about that stupid dewdrop-splattered basin of silver and ceilings, sandy flooring and the soft call of the ocean, like what you hear through a seashell, echoing back. Made him feel like he had someone with him. Munchie just... felt a calling to that place. Maybe because he was always freaking lonely, but he did.

"Er... I don't think that's such a good idea."

Don't ask why, Munchie; that is very rude to a lady. "Why?" Too late. He chewed at his lip, face reddening with every passing moment as Jordan carried him. Any moment she would drop him to his death as he rolled back down those bristles the way they'd come and he would be killed right on the spot. All left of his sorry self would be a thin rope of blood drawn from his head cracking and ripping open like a rich, pulpy fruit and spilling its juices thinly for someone to eventually stumble upon his corpse. Do it, Jordan. Send him to misery. He asked for it. Oh did he ask for it. Do it to this poor, stupid munchlax who definitely deserved your endorsement. He waited, hovered, the only thing buckling him for safety that scythe-like green arm with the sharp fingers that scared him a little: no, a lot. Hot air from the volcano just above whiffed at him, like it wanted to smell him before he could smell it. His scent was lost to the steam as it billowed by. His tongue's surface roughly tasted of ashes.

"Mm... it's dangerous." How was it dangerous? They'd gone in there not so long a—wait Jordan no. She was supposed to kill him for asking why. "Munchie, please stop sitting so still and acting so sweet. It's like you'll spill over if you make the slightest error. All I can say right now is that it would be dangerous to go near there. We had reasons to avoid it, and we're not sure what exactly, but they're bad reasons. You..." She paused, took a leap over a frightening gap in the ground, straightened back up with a snap of her hair, and continued. "...had that on your mind for some time, no? I just feel it. Geez, next time, just ask. We're here for you." The words riveted into a ravine just in his aching temples, splitting open more questioning, which, with a slurred push, slowly dribbled into one thing: why was she being so nice? Well, Jordan was, and speaking of her name, all Munchie could mumble in thanks was "Jordan..." And it was a pule. A pule, of all things. He was a pathetic munchlax. Squawking to himself about how much better he could have done, Munchie shifted in Jordan's arm and blinked angrily. Blurred eyes caught fragile glimpses of the cracked earth, with dust and other disgusting molecules lying around there. Munchie felt then perturbed, disturbed, but not his initial anger at himself. What kind of a creature would _pule_ so pathetically though? But at the time, he had bigger thoughts to mull over and uselessly worry about. The tiny tons of germs sitting there on unsafe, cracked earth that seemed to be growing redder and hotter by the second, for example.

She smiled through those sharp teeth and dagger-like lips. The thin munchlax took it as a good sign. Most likely a good sign. He crossed his fingers too, because he didn't trust himself all that much. Not like he didn't trust Jordan, but he couldn't tell if she was happy for him or wanted to rip out his throat and suck his blood. Did... gallades do that? No? Maybe? No. Probably not. But this one probably would because he was so terrible. For a rushed second, Munchie remembered like a light honing down on him in an abyss of something black and scary—a pit of tar—that he has asked nicely to himself to stop being so sad and without self-esteem, because these people did love him, and they did want him, and they did enjoy him. Then the moment was lost and Munchie went back to being stuck in his reliable pit of tar. Hey, it was always there. Maybe Munchie never had someone to rely on, but he always had his tar pit.

Then he decided to stop thinking about being pathetic, or tar pits, or anything of the sort, to make himself at least have the slightest bolster in some nonexistent self-confidence that he obviously lacked. And one could tell, even without him being thin. Munchie felt particularly sure that whether he had been so skinny or not... well, no. Maybe this was only because he was skinny, but that meant no matter what: this was who he always was, and it was always who he would be. Munchie couldn't change his physical self any more than he could pull out his crooked teeth to try and make himself look better. It wouldn't happen, and he learned to accept it and take the hampering on his self-esteem. Some things went that way. Munchie was one of those things. But he didn't mention anything about tar or pits or black, hopeless walks because he... he wasn't... that bad. He wasn't _there._ He hoped. More fingers crossed, and he toes reluctantly and gave stubby scrapes at one another as well. Munchie... didn't feel any better, but he pretended he did. For the most part, Jordan didn't question it. Probably thought he was crazy as it was. See, Munchie was very good at seeing the worst in himself while still making the others look better. Then again, Jordan would always look better, seeing who she was. Maybe she hated it, but no one could help but nod to it: she was... physically really cool.

And up came the ledge. The scruffy, thin boy hanging from his tall friend's arm, gently pressed against her chest to keep from squabbles or falling, rubbed at his eyes, releasing the knots of crossed fingers that seemed to have run their toll as much as they could. He... had expected something much scarier. This was when his low self-esteem came in handy. Brushing by that sly little fact, Munchie blinked again, rubbed at his eyes, and then blinked once more for good measure. What sat in front of him happened to be cracked, dried, and orange-brown. Some red heated into it, and steam billowed, whistled, like it could sing now, and it smelled worse than boiled eggs in musty fur—trust him, he knew these things from Treasure Town—but... nothing that bad. A looping, knotting rim traced around the gaping hole in the middle of the peak of the volcano thingy, but it was long, and it was—as said—knotted, and it was sturdy. Rocky. Had some cracks in it, but surely Jordan could manage. Just standing there, she only looked at a crack in the earth across and then it snapped straight up and flung itself down the steaming, gaping hole of volcano maw into nothingness below. Munchie didn't even hear it drop. He wouldn't be heard when he and Jordan fell.

No, stupid, have confidence. He didn't have to feel safe, but he felt Jordan would be fine. Heck, she was this super cool female gallade. She was pretty, and strong, and she hated pokemon and especially strong ones, but, uh, hey, she was cool. She liked him, he liked her, everything was sure alright. Finally, pulling as if they didn't want to do this, Jordan's little toes sprung and gave a much more slugmaish pace. Safer, yes. Safer. Keep them alive. Apparently looking at cracks in the ground cut them off. Leaping would... be scarier. Same death, if not worse, like completely ravaging all of the looped holes ringing around the volcano. Extreme heat belched into Munchie's face, panning out in front of the gaping volcano maw, and he gasped and choked for breath. Somehow the air came and he lived another couple of seconds before air was required again and the struggle droned on. "Munchie?"

"Y-yeah? Jordan?" So she wanted conversation. He could do that. Oh... uh... yeah. Yep. Munchie mentally wrung his soul out, smacked his skull upside the head, and went with it. He got this. He... had this. An inward cramp. Jordan was his friend, a close one at that—one of the few and he'd known her through Spirit Bright. Then again, he knew all of his friends from that same guild. Still. They meant something to him. Stop stuttering, stupid munchlax, and go along with it. He felt like an imbecile buffoon. Both at once. And a nincompoop.

She took some careful, soft steps, and breathed in a soft though still dagger-laced tone. It always would be; she had no way to escape that, but he was okay with it. They all were. "Do you ever want to evolve? You'd... most definitely go as tall as me; Byrender. Above Spirit." Spirit was tall in comparison to Ashley—Munchie was borderline his height, counting the odd, angular ears of his but not Spirit's—but Byrender, but Jordan... "I mean... you would be a snorlax, then. They're... quite huge. Quite heavy." Could he even evolve, Munchie realized. Could he even evolve? Was that something a munchlax with his sort of rare body state, so rare it was never seen and always disgraced, was that something he could do? He could have sworn a munchlax had to attain a certain weight before going to snorlax. But... say he could. He blinked. Say he could.

"Um... I don't th-think I can. But if I could... probably not. I... it'd be so weird..." Plus, a raging battle had taken aflame in his mind. Would he be a fat snorlax or an unbearably skinny snorlax? Could a snorlax even be unbearably skinny? Maybe. He had no idea, honestly. He probably couldn't evolve as it was, and that... suited him. He guessed. Heck, Munchie didn't know anything.

And after some careful wobbling, Jordan responded softly, her tone rivaling Munchie's general softness, including that husk. Not including the husk, no way could anyone get close. Not anyone he knew. "I never wanted to evolve from a ralts. But then my parents told me about evolutions, and I grew to like kirlia. I decided I would become a kirlia, and I would stay a kirlia. As you see... they had other plans. I'm... okay with it now, but that's what I had wanted then. I'm not... that sweet little thing, because of who I am, and I'll always have that hole in my heart. Munchie, I don't know if you can evolve either, but if you ever think of it... know that it's something that will forever change you. Nothing... can stop it. Ever.

"I asked Ashley. She didn't know chimchars could evolve until then. I don't think she'll change." Munchie didn't think she would either. "I know this is a little odd, but don't stop yourself just because of some pokemon. Not... not unless that pokemon means a lot to you." She paused again, small breaths fueling Munchie's gut as he faced away from the fumes and struggled to hold in this heap of information as well. "It's a lot of random information, but you learn stuff when you're both my... age, young as I am, and under Spirit's guild for however long. Some information stuff you never thought you'd learn its reasoning to. But... you do. You do. It can be nice." The gracefully dying—dying of heartache—of a dancer tiptoed her final steps off the loop and capsized over the edge, back to her leaping and roaming and onward, one arm in the air to fend off any foes or wave to a nearby bumbling friend, the other secure over Munchie.

It didn't take all that long to do the rest of those turns and those bumps and angles and whatever it was to get back to Drenched Bluff. For some reason through that time, Munchie felt like something was watching him, though he knew if something was, Jordan would have its head before it'd even started to consider looking at him. Maybe he was going loony. Yeah, maybe. That sounded like his most logical conclusion as of yet. Nobody could be staring at him. But still, whenever Munchie glanced back out of the agony of it, he felt like he could see yellow. Yep, going loony. Or maybe he was getting pinkeye. Oh, no wait. Pinkeye wasn't yellow. Those were two completely different colors. Blinking tiredly, Munchie went against questioning it. Once the watery, spongy grounds came into contact, he limply shrugged off Jordan's giving arm, which fell back, and he flopped onto what should have been the ground.

"Dude, you're okay!" first stated what was not the ground, then deeply murmured, "and I see you've found yourself a new place to rest your head, eh? Pfft, hahahaha. I'm sure you'll get off. Eventually." The munchlax... almost saw the smile in Byrender's buck-toothed grin. But his head was stuffed into the brown, caramel fur, so he didn't. Why did he always end up meeting the others like so, with his head directly hidden by Byrender? Maybe because Byrender the fluffy, brown bibarel felt safer to hide through, since he had such a warm, puffy composure and such a deep, laughable tone that could make anyone feel even a little safer. The most serious serial assassin killer murderer guy would probably feel as innocent as a newly-hatched baby if he'd just listen to Byrender talk some. Munchie felt the bibarel's thick lungs pumping rapid barrels of air somewhere above his own fluffy, layered head of dusky blue, plus the pale stripe. He wasn't really listening, but he was, to that soft, sweet voice. Anyone had to love it.

A whisper of a response settled comfortably beside Byrender's great bark of laughter here and there. "Thank goodness Munchie's safe," came the soft tone. Munchie detected hidden displays of happiness at the sound, but he wasn't too sure. Probably Drynt, though, since one could never tell what he layered in his whisper besides the soft, somewhat cool tone. Whatever, he seemed happy. A memory whacked him: Jordan said he'd been crying or something about him. Munchie had no idea if that was a prank of sorts of if the elgyem really had shed tears for his cause, but it still felt nice, if nothing else. And, right, Drynt cared. He just showed that bit of him off.

Other voices mixed in, and he felt pretty confident he could recognize all of them. The words fledged into sentences, into stories, into awkwardly long rambles that didn't seem to end for a moment or two extra and just held a hefty, heavy, embarrassing pause for a good lengthy moment. Still, he knew who these pokemon were, and he felt safe. Munchie filled a list of marks for the others. He'd already found Jordan, so her elegantly dark tone set safely, and he had himself resting against Byrender, Drynt had spoken prior, maybe cried for him, Spirit over there made enough gay jokes to sink a boat with, Chindu's squabbling digression has proven inefficient, Mystic's light quips assured that everyone makes mistakes, we're all stupid, and we're gonna die anyway, and... nope. Wait. That was it. No one else. No... where was... Where was she? Ashley? Missing? No one had found her? They'd regrouped and regrettably didn't find the chimchar that'd run off... or... maybe she hadn't run off. Munchie, he'd run off. Jordan went looking. She delivered. Which... made no sense because Ashley should have been straight up right there, sitting on yellow, spongy ground with the residue of water like footprints in the sand, her smudgy orange figure flounced and flopped down to the ground, burning flame of a tail flickering affectionately. But no. Simply: no. This... did not happen. His gallade friend had delivered him, the thin munchlax, but what about her, the thick chimchar? Whatever happened to her? Flaming souls didn't slip out of hands that quickly, not without burning someone.

Munchie's heart pounded with pangs of worry and attitude. He had to find her and get her back. It was his fault in the first place she'd gone missing, wouldn't it be. Determination swamped him like guilt had been for such a time, but now that gut full of regrets burned to what he had to do. Feeling the first little trickle of bravery rushing through his veins—rather pathetically, but better pathetic than not at all—Munchie shook his layered head, removed it from Byrender's stomach area, or wherever half of a bibarel was, and sneezed lightly. Someone cooed at the sound. Probably Mystic. "I... where's..." Munchie shook his head to try and move the fluff that might be clogging his thought process up in there. It was simple. All he had to do was say it. "Where's Ah... Ah... Ashley!" He winced after his voice rose to such an octave, but the others had rounding, thoughtful orbs.

Spirit was first to voice his opinion, floppy white ears flipping back as his cloudy green eyes further clouded. Fogs lived in his bloodstream, maybe, and made him look so majestic but foggy and the coloring of his fur was weird too. "I have to say that... I have absolutely no idea where she could have run off to." Something inside of Munchie's soul died. "Nono no no... nononono no NO! NO! WAIT! I have absolutely one idea." The same thing coughed and realized it was alive again. Munchie had no idea what it was, but it was alive, and that was probably a good thing. Maybe none so far as a blessing, but a good thing. And good things... they were good. "That one idea is that she has run away in the _opposite_ direction that you ran in. Genius, right?" The thing gave a flailing, pathetic wail. But it seemed like it'd be sticking around for a little longer. Spirit then cockily sighed, "But there's always the chance she's already gone. Ohhhh, woooeeee is meeeeeeeee—"

Munchie didn't get a chance to hear the rest of whatever the wigglytuff had said. He flung himself down the hallway he'd taken prior to run from Ashley, only now he happened to be running in the other direction. Maybe his friends didn't feel inclined to search, but he did. And this was all Munchie's fault. He had to find her. He had to. Had to be kind to her and apologize to her and maybe even, like, shake her hand or something? That sounded so awkward but if it worked, it worked, and Munchie would take what he could get. He was... yeah, he was feeling pretty desperate. It was a cold, sludgy emotion that curdled down his throat, tickled his esophagus, and made him gag slightly. But he just wanted to find that pudgy primate so badly he could have been completely filled with desperation, like the emotion had created him and built him up, for Ashley, for Ashley, and he wouldn't wink an eye at it. Gritting crooked teeth that wouldn't meld together but still boosted confidence, Munchie clenched some fists and bit his lip and hoped he was okay. He felt relatively not bad.

His feet pitter-pattered on, their full-moon shaped and colored bottoms sliding without reluctance upon sponge ground. Teeth and tiny fists gritted, eyes wide and displaying his hope-rimmed orbs to an almost showy level, scruffy fur sticking up in odd places like polka-dots that were actually bundled nerves spiking, ears angled against the wind, falling for it easily, Munchie felt a little... relatively not bad. And that counted as good. Whatever anyone thought about the secretive, chubby, foul-mouthed chimchar, he just found her charming. Good. Happy words sprinkled over her more than sparks did, and Ashley had a lot of sparks on her from all of her flaming activity. He'd never seen her use an ember or any sort of fire move in action, just that bobbing tail, but he felt sure she could crisp up anything she felt the need to crisp. Growing dreadful, heart dropping and scooping itself back up while it looked like crud and didn't want to keep beating, Munchie cried out like a mournful banshee: "Ashleeeeyyyy _yyyyyy!"_ He sounded as awful as a little girl who was told her imaginary boyfriend didn't exist. Fear threatened to spin his soft, husked cry out of orbit, but somehow it knotted to him and Munchie was okay. For now. Those words jarred him, and suddenly the munchlax became terrified of the shadow following him and felt completely sure that the yellow thing he felt watching him _was hiding behind his shadow and was going to eat him._ "EEEKKK!" He flung his arms in the air and sprinted off, tears streaming like banners.

Eventually the thin biped calmed and, fur slowly slicking to the sides in its scruffy manner, no longer sticking up like he was a cactus, because he wasn't and he was supposed to be a hug-laden munchlax, not a cactus, Munchie found his voice and, satisfied he didn't sound like a wandering hooligan, whispered her name to himself. Munchie found it enjoyable, to hear the word bouncing to him. He liked the way it sounded. "Ashley... Ashley... Ashley." Took him a moment, but Munchie began to see that he must have looked scary as it was to keep muttering her name. Whatever. Anyone asked and he could come up with some lame excuse. He liked the freaking way Ashley's name sounded on his tongue, don't mess with him about it, geez. It just... he wanted to hug his whisper to himself and keep searching for that sweet chimchar—he found her sweet in her own way, okay—until she herself showed. Munchie knew he didn't have enough courage to both search for her and hug her, but it'd be a sight for sore eyes to have her back by his side. He liked Ashley, Ashley liked him, they worked that way, as did everyone else in their crew.

A hand spouted and snatched his fingers. It came so fast and so cold he lost his breath and the ability to screech about it until the long fingers of the other hand stuffed his mouth shut. Pale fingers—long, right, he saw that. Long. Thin. Pale. Not really any hair, just skin. Munchie nearly bit that same lovely hand when his eyes widened even more severely and he wanted to cry out in joy because oh gosh look who it was look who he'd found. No, no wait, she'd found _him_. That might... Wait—why had she gone and captured him if he was the one trying to save her? Probably because he was too terrible to save anyone. Yeah, that sounded right. Shaking his head as much as his limited room allowed, Munchie managed to accidentally squirm in a position that freed his mouth so much he could speak and it seemed some air could escape and form coherent wording. He quickly squeaked, "Ashley! I've been looking all over—" and he cut off, recalling what a sin he'd done to her, and added "—I... Oh, my gosh I'm so sorry, Ashley! I'm so so sorry! Ugh, I'm so stupid and terrible... I'm so... sorry... I'm so terrible..." He continued repeating those words until he was practically mumbling heat into her fingers. Munchie couldn't take what he must have done to the poor chimchar. How... wrong... was that, to leave her. How... terribly wrong of him. He was terrible.

"Damn, Munchie." That was her sharp tongue, fiery and sparkly and oh, so _Ashley_. So perfect for her. She must have read his lips using her fingers. "You don't have to fucking waste your warm breath on my shit! It was a fuck-up I made. My snafu. My bitch shot. Okay..? I should've done something, dammit. You were gonna crack eventually. Hell, what we were doing to you, and everything I know about you; that's a lot of mean, shitty pressure. Dude. It's fine. Fucking legit." As the chimchar eased out, Munchie magically managed to lift her small but chubby frame and spin it around so that he could actually hug her. "Oh... wow. Dear fuck, you're both hugging me and choosing to touch me and it's not fucking awkward! DAMN STRAIGHT!" Her tail, oddly, was a warm tickle to his stomach and did not happen to burn a hole in his fur and/or skin. Impressive. "Munchie, I have to say, my boy, I'm very proud of you. See, you're not a dumbass! I've been trying to tell you all this time that you're the shit—er, you're great. You know... all of that. Thank hell you figured it out."

For a good few seconds, all Munchie could do was struggle for the words. "I... um... ugh... you... how... wha—what... I... I-I... I... then... What—who—no... No..." His head began to pound and Munchie scrabbled and hugged the chimchar in front of him a little aggressively. "I... Ashley... you... why... what... I..." That was a rather aggressive hug going on. "You..." Ashley snorted, which bloomed into a snotty chortle. She choked and spat on the ground, managing to not hit a soul this time around. "W-wow... I... Ashley. Why did you say that all to me..? Why were you... so... so kind? What was that all-ll ab-about? You're too kind." She just snorted again and a glob of spit stuck to his arm.

"Shit sorry. Munchie... I'm not... I'm not that nice. I'm not what the fuck you say I am."

He dully blinked—yes, dully. He was blinking like the fishy lumineon and her octillery mate had. He was going there. Such rebellion. One with attitude would snap their fingers or flip their hair for him. "Well, maybe." And... uh... nope. He thought he had more to say, but it all summed up rather nicely with that duet. _Well, maybe._ She wasn't bad to him, though. Munchie still enjoyed her. Perhaps... she wasn't nice. It... technically—no, Ashley was not a nice pokemon. She didn't go out of her way to help others or ask how their days were going or try to make them smile, do any of that stuff. But she made him smile anyways, and it didn't take kindness to do that. She mumbled a "No, really, I'm abso-fucking-lutely not, dammit, but whatever," then continued on, stumbling past his horrid attempt at a compliment. Then, Munchie wanted to apologize. Ashley would get mad at him if he did, though. For a while, Munchie really wanted to avoid that road. He understood by then it wouldn't be forever, but just... some time. He'll try.

"It was just kinda wrong of me to assume you'd be alright with everyone being shushed around you. And all the pressure and shit—but okay, we're all good. So... I was upset and looking for you and avoiding everyone else. Now I've found you, and now we take detour." What. "I just felt you flinch. Considering it now, that was a fucking terrible idea. Don't listen to me, no detour. So, blah blah, anyways, from where I'm from, I know exactly why the hell we're not going near the Waterfall Cave place, and that's where you and I should go. Because my trust for you is some pretty serious shit."

She was about to continue, but Munchie felt an itching need to intervene. "U-um, Ashley?"

"Yep?"

"Would it be bad or... awkward... if I asked if we could stop hugging?"

"Aw, are you feeling all awkward and shit?" She said she wasn't nice, but she still understood him. That felt important.

"Yes..."

"Okay, sure. It's cool. I getcha." He swore he'd never find someone like this chimchar. She needed an award. Munchie slowly removed his arms, swiveled them slightly, then took in Ashley's round face as it turned more in tune to him and those fiery eyes sparked. "Mm-mm." She giggled softly. "So I was thinking, hell, I need to get over to that Waterfall Cave area. It has to do with the time gears and all that shit. My trust for you and the damage in that area are both pretty serious shit, but they're also different kinds of shits. I'm sure you won't mix them up though. Maybe. Fuck. Sorry in advance if you do because of that. So where was I going... Oh. Hell. Right. We'll regroup with our buddies and all that, then we get to the guild, they sleep, and we do not, nope, don't fucking sleep. We have some other business of mine to attend to. It involves... most of my problems. Excuse me while I bitch, but I have a couple of serious conflicts. So... whenever we get there, that both solves my where-the-fuck-is-Inf issue and hell-which-time-gear-needs-fixing-first question. It's... uh, a little complicated. Damn, no, it's a lot complicated. I'll explain more when we're breaking the rules and running around in the middle of the night like nocturnal mutants." And, believe it or not, in the end, Munchie obliged to what his chimchar friend requested, because... she'd let him in on a few other things. He could tell she had secrets, because such a talented eavesdropper simply knew these things, but asking of them, learning of them, being able to share this trusted connection with her: those things didn't come from peeping in on townsfolk. Ashley wasn't one of those guys. None of his true friends were. And... the thin munchlax, odd as he was as well, he not only liked that but found himself preferring who he'd found closeness to.

"Sorry for dragging you around with all of my shit, but I swear more of my bitching will make sense later. Munchie, you're a really good friend, you know? You keep saying I'm nice even though I'm fucking not; dammit, you're the nice one." He what. "You are. You have real fucking fine and dandy manners and the others are really confused why you act so awkward and your self-esteem is such a shitter. You are good." No he's not. "You are. And I'm standing by that. I hope... you meet a nice pokemon one day and they make you happy. And they're nice like you. Whatever you say, you crazy munchlax, you seriously need to shake off your self-esteem issues." What self-esteem he didn't have any to recover plus it didn't matter he was terrible shut up Ashley. No, no; Ashley, please don't shut up, but stop acting like he was something Munchie most obviously wasn't. He didn't say much, didn't know what he would say, so Ashley shrugged.

"Onward it is. Let's get our asses over to our buddies." It wasn't cold or distant, just a little like a pat on the head. Her longer knot of hair flung over a small shoulder, and Ashley's long hands slapped against the ground with her long toes. Again in that weird quadrupedal formation. Munchie didn't quite question it, but still found the look slightly odd. She'd stumble, though, without it. Whatever, man. Do as you see fit, Ashley.

They did exactly that. Onward the odd pokemon went on, one slipping and giving off a major curse every few seconds, the other awkwardly stepping behind her. Admittedly, Ashley's unconditional cussing had both become something Munchie was used to and silently laughing for. He thought it'd be rude to burst out in giggles at her, even if she did happen to be deaf, so if the slightest rumble came it was swallowed, and yet Munchie had a half-moon grin hanging off his pale cheeks, a few straggly teeth sticking out crooked as they could just because they could, and that was all they could muster. Hey, they'd tried. Munchie would give them points for just attempt.

Any remains of guilt in his heart had crusted over, which Munchie quickly found pleasure in. He hoped that wouldn't ever come back to sock him in the face, the guilt. As for that moment, he seemed safe. Stepping over the spongy ground, from yellow to pale pink to puffy, soft blue, Drenched Bluff felt satisfied with its composure of moist, spongy buildup and pastel colors. Pastel wasn't a bad choice, idly agreed the munchlax. It gave a soft, hugging sort of feel that made even the worst monsters look like adorable little things, and sparkles. It didn't take quite a time for the chimchar in front to wind her way up and down the cliffs and peaks prior to wedging them with their... teammates. Friends. Fellow pokemon under the fellowship of Spirit Bright. Although Mystic sometimes called it an occult, Chindu hurriedly assured the others as his rainbow wings sweated cold fear awkwardly that no Spirit Bright was nothing like that. By then, the mudkip would be fallen over on her back, splayed out, giggling like there was no tomorrow, and Chindu's face got redder than his cherry beak. Everyone already knew this wasn't an occult, as they all, you know, were a part of the guild itself, but the scene for some reason always stirred in the poor chatot's heart. Munchie felt like he should do something about that one day, but that memory was a scroll lined in gold too, so the temptation fell through. He swore, even the bad in those guys made him smile and he'd hang it up on a wall and show it off to everyone if he could. Yes, he'd show off their flaws and call them beautiful, all of them. Even the ones that weren't a female gallade.

And thus, the troopers were off, off to their old tricks and games and strings of laughter connecting one awkward situation to another. Smiles very easily permeated the scene. Munchie didn't quite understand how the chimchar to his side, eyes rapidly flouncing around the corridor or wherever they lumbered along, could so casually bolt out responses that nigh always fit the conversation. The poor deaf girl just kept blinking and looking, reading lips, and she did it. Sure, she had to; sure, it was all she could do; sure, the deaf one had nothing else; yet it still amazed the munchlax beside her, for Ashley did that to him at times. Her fire orbs paddled about the place until she had an intake of enough information, growing used to the other creatures just as Munchie was, and she did it fine. It was rather easy to forget that Ashley couldn't truly hear. All the same, the thin munchlax far preferred it when he had just her near him and they could smoothly converse, or as smooth as his conversing could go.

Once escaping the strangely-cut rounds and bends of Drenched Bluff, going down a few River Valley roads, edging some Mystery Dungeon boundary or another, and stumbling into the early dusk of Treasure Town when some of the old timers continued gossiping while most sensible pokemon succumbed to their beds, Munchie and his guild buddies took off on that trail that coiled up and to the left, overlooking not only from the middle of the single untouched town of magic but the magic that surrounded it by every corner but the bluff looking out to sea, just a smidgen, and fell to a foggy haze that never left the region. He and his buddies, both tall, short, mid-sized and stubbornly levitating, ducked under the lip of the silvery tent with Spirit's face blown up and modeled on top, nearly falling straight down the wooden ladders to the grass, then succumbing to their own beds. Unless, of course, that buddy was a fiery primate whose long hand sprung out, snatched Munchie's, and tugged him back. The others must have been zonked out already, he tiredly complained to himself. They didn't stir, and Spirit didn't poke his head out of the holy door to his and Chindu's room to yell at them that nobody could risk becoming nocturnal, not now, not ever. None such events occurred. He simply stared with old, tired orbs that needed a rest until Ashley plunged him back up those stiff ladders and their planked landings hung by string alone until they escaped again and she lead him to the north, straight behind and further off the hill he should have been sleeping inside of. The grass beneath his toes was starting to look mighty fine, even.

But his trusted chimchar friend pulled and coaxed and slapped and cursed and he listened because that was what he always did when it came to Ashley and without even thinking his face nearly lost its expression eternally as her foot tripped him and he didn't crash into the wall of what looked like silvery stone in front. A moon gazed coldly upon the troopers, and the rest of the sky was covered in a haze, a haze soon overcome by dewdrops that glittered coldly and spouted toward rain. Munchie's fur became soaked, and Ashley's tail blinked in and out of the light it usually produced. Her eyes, though, stained of brighter flames he flinched back from. Always, always made him nervous. Always. "See this wall?" _RAP._ Thin, wet knuckles against the silver wall. They left bubbled dots. Sounded very secure. Something he didn't want to deal with. "That's the damn waterfall." He nodded, then—wait. Waterfalls... had water. Then where was the water? Ashley, that can't be a waterfall: waterfalls have water collected upon them.

"Aw, you look really fucking confused... Well, see... uh. That's the waterfall: water and all." No it wasn't. Munchie believed his friend, but not his eyes. Simple. "It actually is. Shit. See all of these weird, bubbly lines? That, you know, look like fucking water when moving as a waterfall, but frozen?" Munchie had never seen a frozen waterfall so he didn't have the liability to respond. "Dammit, I know these things. This waterfall is frozen in time." Wait she just—"Yep. Baaaaaasically. Pfft, that got something outta ya. I... well... ugh, it's fucking complicated, and it'd be easier if we found Influence and figured what the hell is going on first. But... I'm from a really interesting place. No, joking, it's an asspit. Don't go where I come from. My mom's fine, my dad's an ass... the world is shit. I'm sorry I keep shoving it off, but I fucking swear you'll be able to understand and that I really want you to. It's just... ugh... dammit." But still, she was telling him and trusting him and he saw it. "So we're looking for a clueless idiot grovyle and he should be nearby. Got it?" Munchie hesitantly nodded, which sent a spark of a smile to the deaf girl's lips, who nodded back and pointed toward the frozen waterfall. "I don't know what the hell our buddies from the guild are up to, but there's something called a time gear, and it's supposed to be in there, only it's been fucked so it's frozen in this area. But that's... only the beginning. Damn, my home is horrible." She was jumping topics, and Munchie struggled to catch on, and he felt slightly confident he understood, but not completely. Eh, good enough. "...Let's just go." So they did.

So they did.

Carefully, Ashley shimmied from a side of the waterfall where the waves caved enough to procure and protect, opening a shell of a bubble so slink through and into the frozen magical lair. Munchie did the same, which happened to be both easier and harder for him: easier because he was thinner, harder because he was taller. They made it all the same. And again, though the munchlax happened to be extraordinarily skinny, his layers of furs didn't give him such a tiny outlook. Ashley didn't really look like her gut was larger than his. But still, her chubbiness made her look freaking cute, okay.

Shivers spilled down the munchlax and the chimchar, their back fur sticking up in accordance to such display. Putting it plain, eerie painted the scene. Where light, color, and droplets should have splayed out into one beautiful scene, there stood... solid grays. The gray didn't even have the decency to change. Munchie had no shadow; Ashley had no shadow; she didn't even seem alarmed by it. Admittedly, the chimchar did talk like a slight expert to these sorts of things, so perchance she knew them and understood her sudden lack of shadow following her. Munchie felt like he had pinkeye and something yellow, or with this yellow sort of essence or something, continued to lurk behind him, which was again crazy. He felt with certainty Ashley would have figured it out—she was deaf, not blind—gotten and shown that thing who was boss, so he ignored it easily. No, not easily. He felt like something wanted to eat him and struggled closer with each passing moment. Munchie began to hope it wasn't some terrifying monster that didn't like him being near his dear chimchar friend. She meant a lot to him, and he didn't like the idea of being forced to, like... leave her. For any reason. Friends... stuck together, didn't they? And plus he found the fiery deaf one charming, to the least. Perhaps her personality didn't suit exceptional kindness, but that was okay by him. He... didn't need that... those kinds of things didn't exist, anyway. He liked Ashley, Ashley liked him, and that was that. All good. All good.

They continued a peaceful saunter, shadowless til Munchie started feeling as if his fur had been shaved off, something so small that drove him crazy, driveled him around shamelessly, but still the imprint the sun left on him in day and the moon even only a sliver at night didn't reveal itself. His shell of himself, left a temporary imprint on land, wouldn't come back unless the stupid Waterfall Cave stopped being frozen. He adored the Mystery Dungeon, and seeing it so grayed, cold, marred: frozen, seeing this pain sent an icicle up his spine and through his heart, all in one stab, effectively collecting the majority of his organs in one scoop, sending them out. At least his blood would be red. Hopefully. Would his blood be red? Oh geez, he didn't know. Munchie stared down at his arm and had to hold back struggling tears when he saw the colorless fur. It was getting to him. It was getting to him. The only positive was that the strange, yellow essence seemed to leave him with the color, and yeah, that was fine and dandy, but was he going color blind or something? Would he and Ashley match in the disabilities corner..? Wait, his miraculous metabolism might already cast him off there to sink. Ashley wouldn't sink, but Munchie's rock of a self-esteem would lose him.

Then the hand went across his mouth, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out. This hand happened to be longer than the chimchar's he so knew and preferred, and the skin was all weird, like velvety, like, no, leaves. And the fingers had thick pads at the end, entwined by colorless... leaves? Yeah. His body had leaves on it—oh, or her. His or her body had leaves blooming out of it, only nothing had color and that scared Munchie. "Psst," formed the whisper, and Munchie's brain was like _oh oh it's Drynt._ In fact, it wasn't Drynt. The leave hands, right. Also the voice, he learned later, was a sort of deep, dark rasp. "Who am I?" Munchie wanted to tell him he didn't know, but his fear factor spiraled out of control and unconsciousness suffocated him like a wet blanket could and he couldn't breathe and tears popped out of his eyes and he thrashed and something slung him back.

"YOU FUCKING DUMBASS! DON'T LAY AN ASS FINGER ON HIM!" He didn't question the whole, adding her curse word because he had to not because he liked cursing, _ass finger._ What did that mean? Did he have... fat fingers? Or did she not like his fingers? Or simply did she not want his fingers on Munchie? The munchlax had a sudden surge of embarrassment and something warm and something burning and something... enigmatic. Ashley could be enigmatic, and he liked that in her. Well, her cursing was enigmatic and flavorful. One could figure her personality when they knew her long enough. She was not, not, bipolar or anything. She was a warm fluffy pillow and Munchie wanted to hug her but he also didn't because he sucked at touching others, like, with his hands or anything. "DAMMIT, INFLUENCE."

Then it was Influence's turn to speak, and Munchie saw that this was the grovyle guy his dear friend had been searching for. Long, silky leaves spilled from his angular head, and he had a slender maw with a soft underbelly and long, twig-like limbs. Nice and thin and lean, not the strongest though. The raspy voice came flickering out with a forked tongue. "Influence? Is this some sort of joke? What kind of a name is Influence? That's, like, a pretty big and sad word, dummy." Munchie felt a severe desire to slap that guy across the face for indirectly and idiotically insulting his chimchar friend. The munchlax turned back and saw that Ashley's body had lost color as well, and its valor only fell from there. Her face should have hardened, reddened, her tail should have spluttered flame, but... she looked so dull and tired.

"I knew we'd fucked up somewhere... you've lost your memory. But for the fucking record, Influence is your name because none of the damn pokemon from home liked giving names because they'RE SO FUCKING HOPELESS BUT MY MOM, DARLA, AND SHE NAMED ME AND GOT HER FRIEND TO NAME HER FAMILY, AND HER FRIEND WAS YOUR SHITTY MOM, AND THERE YOU GO. INFLUENCE." She seethed silently for a moment, tiny, cute teeth gritted, then spat both words and saliva. Missing up, her jaw grew somewhat wet, somewhat tangled. "You have a ton of younger siblings and they're all fucking twins. Moraymon, Nana, Dunkin, Steve, Gop, Lorry, and how the hell would we forget little runt Jojo." The name bloomed in his head from that failure joke she'd tried with the name Jojo. A soft oh echoed in his head. "Your dad was fucking murdered by my dad"—oh that sounded terrible Munchie liked her dad a little less then—"and we wanted to fix the shit we were in. I completely understand you understood none of the bitching spewing from my maw, but maybe Munchie did. Whatever. Fuck. We fucked up when we came here, so your memory bitched at us and now you've lost it. DAMMIT." With that last word crunching over her teeth, Ashley squinted her colorless orbs and whispered, "I wish I'd spew blood did I slap myself for being such a dumbass," then her hand went and clapped and she'd not slapped herself.

Ashley's taut fingers collapsed after buffeting Influence and clocking him a good one. Standing to her full height with a jump just barely zonked him over the head as he crumpled to a colorless, leafy heap on the earth.

"And that, Munchie, that was my mate. Now how about I try to give you some chance to organize all the shit running like severe diarrhea up in you. I apologize, first off, for what I've caused to you."

 **Me: Heeeehhhhhhh... how confused are we?**

 **Ashley: Not at all. -spits-**

 **Munchie: … owo**

 **Ashley: It's cool, I'll try my best to help you out.**

 **Munchie: ….**

 **Ashley: Fuck. He's looking zonked.**

 **Influence: WHAT IS THIS**

 **Me: HI**

 **Ashley: GO TO SLEEP YOU SHOULD BE ZONKED**


	5. Nobody Likes Tall Scary Man

**Me: Ahhh, it feels nice to be back in my writer hole.**

 **Ashley: Because you live in a fucking cave yep.**

 **Me: Dude. Come on.**

 **Ashley: daMMIT NO YOU COME ON**

 **Me: what**

 **Munchie: ASHLEY I'VE BEEN TRYING SO HARD PLEASE CALM DOWN**

 **Ashley: I DON'T TAKE THAT SHIT LIGHTLY**

 **Me/Munchie: whAT**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Five: Nobody Likes Tall Scary Man

Ashley appeared to have something very important on her mind that she had to tell her munchlax friend right there and then, just let it out, but her bent legs collapsed further and she took a spill out on the ground, hands extending rather dramatically: but Munchie couldn't even tell if she was trying to be dramatic or did actual pain crease upon her smudged figure then. His heart kicked like a stone and banged into a few things, battering without breaking any body parts. This sort of instinct kicked on inside of him somewhere and pestered him softly that he should probably go up to Ashley and like do something, help his poor primate friend, her arms and legs jolting and sticking up with bits of clumped, creepily gray instead of orange fur and he wasn't sure if that was a really good thing or not: Munchie felt certain that was a bad thing. But... what kind of bad thing? Painful? Evil? Uh... what? Ashley's... dad... wasn't around here somewhere, was he? No, no, that'd be scary. And bad. Real, real bad. When Munchie decided that stone-like heart flinging like no tomorrow in his chest wasn't losing itself because some evil presence permeated the air and you know _planned to eat him, all of that_ , safety ensconced like a warm blanket. Or a hug. But he wasn't good with hugs, so the latter example was ignored for the majority.

Shaking out frail fingers, Munchie squinted his eyes at the target: the chimchar slumped in front of him. Even though she was a fire type, drool leaked out of one slit of her lip. He could feel her; drool did that to him, too. But unlike the scruffy, disease-esque munchlax, even a grosser abjection like drool appeared cute on her. Ashley had that style to her, style points, that racked up in his mind because seriously, Ashley was cute to him. Whatever, maybe everyone else didn't think so, but he did. Maybe her mate guy, Influence, did too, he didn't know what sort of relationship held fast or frail betwixt their harsh souls. He felt strongly that if the colorless leaf-melded figure behind him, also slumped, without the mark of drool upon his lip, had his memories, he just might've cursed instead of scrabbling for weaker words. It just seemed like something Ashley and her buddy from who-knows-where—Venturus, maybe, they could all be pretty swanky sailors of a sort, so said the eldest elders—would be fit in a world where curses spilled easy as clumsy, thin munchlaxes did. Yes he tripped a lot. Yes he was not proud of that fact.

Munchie's hand hovered closer to his friend's pale, somewhat plump cheek, rounding it with the color of a pie, perhaps, if he could see colors in this screwed place, with the crust already cooking and warmed to the touch. Munchie didn't know if Ashley's cheek was warm, you know, if they weren't stuck here, but it may be, since she was a fire pokemon and all and some of those guys were so hot they practically ran on steam. His fingers inched, but they froze and stuck and Munchie knew again that he would not be able to muster the courage in his weak soul to touch her like he always did, frozen on the spot. Still, guilt had stopped its deadly drainage, so he couldn't argue. Didn't find a reason to. Burning determination met icy fear and gelid stopping, clocking his movements short like jelly filled his veins, and it seemed Munchie nigh had to stop. No, he'd heard of pokemon who had limbs that lost the feeling in them but could use their mind to, like, trick the body part to move again. Something sort of magic like that: he was in a Mystery Dungeon: maybe a messed up, frozen one at that: but still a Mystery Dungeon. Maybe he could trick—oh. No. Probably not.

An unruly flop changed all of that. The sudden splay of dusky blue fur with edges of gentle tan collided with peachy oranges and pales, soon snaring his body at hers in a mess of limbs and hair. Munchie, mouth nearly on top of the chimchar's knot of hair bobbling high up on her head above the bob of flaming red-orange, spluttered back and expected her to respond. Well, you know, he did fall on top of her. Assaulted pokemon tended to do something about that. But she didn't, in fact. Didn't move. Didn't fall from her place, like she was frozen like those Mystery Dungeons and time had scooped her up—no no no Ashley don't leave Munchie please don't. His breath billowed out in little hurricanes of agony as his ears angled back and Munchie struggled to move, only to fall further into this trap he'd set out for himself. One leg sat beneath her chest, which thankfully had his wriggling toes being brushed by the slow, methodical movement of Ashley's lung circulating air, meaning no, stupid munchlax, she wasn't dead. The Waterfall Cave hadn't magically taken her away; though, as his eyes adjusted again, color seemed to... spark, in and out of vision, like his hitting the floor caused light to manipulate once more. But it fell again. Ashley's hair that should have been an odd mix of blurry reds and a flaming orange fell back to gray. The same gray as everything else in the stubborn room, even. Whatever just happened, and he looked at his arms, had ended already.

Munchie's foot still looked gray as well. He wished he could describe this coloring other than gray, but he couldn't. It was all the exact same shade. And that little notion freaked him out. Sent his heart running again. Color was gone once more and Munchie had never felt so alone, because color didn't desert. This... texture that brought beauty into his life: light and shadow, a rainbow on display, pinks, browns, everything that wasn't in a rainbow but was still a color like the different scruffy blues in his pelt. It filled out a life. And without it, Munchie sat and shivered, an ice cube beneath a heater that had stopped working. Because guess what, the frozen Mystery Dungeon thingy didn't have other temperatures besides a lukewarm feel. He sniffed and no particular scent grazed the lid of his maw. Pure... somewhat stale air. His soul, on the inside, smelled of embarrassment: believe Munchie when he said he could smell it. Oh, did he, hot and prickly and sweet enough to be considered hormones acting up inside of him, a jumble of confusion and stress allowing an accident to slip up and a splatter of embarrassment eked out. No one meant for that one thing to happen. Thus it did; thus embarrassment. Munchie wanted to go somewhere with depth again. He didn't even have a shadow arcing over the ground like his arm was. His back, on the other hand, had twisted, and so his head faced the earth below as it wrapped over Ashley's head and his spine made this half-doughnut curve. An uneven circle cut.

With nothing better to do, he coughed. This set off a series of successions where one foot slipped which was followed by the other. He'd held its full-moon shape up in the air as some sort of balance, but that balance then blundered over and lay with no color though the half-moon shape remained. He didn't fall out of shape, out of how he had been created in size, but without pale highlights, the room felt wrong. The lighting felt wrong; there was no lighting. Following that slip, Munchie hands squabbled and his entire stomach went flat on Ashley's slumped back, her should-be orange furs sticking to the circle on his chest. Nope, wait; Munchie looked and his chest looked the complete same all over. No other shape to distinguish that such a circle even existed. Munchie knew it though, locked in his skull. He couldn't forget something so basic and important. Yeah, he'd forgotten his gender that one time; no, he'd rather not dwell on that. Munchie changed the subject to the startling reek of embarrassment now that he'd gone flat on the chimchar and as hard as he struggled, his limbs grew... heavier. Sand spilled into his bones alongside waters; an ocean lived inside of him and it weighted him down. Munchie coughed grit and his limbs fell, strung heavy over the edges of his chimchar friend. He tried, but he couldn't really move anymore. Weird, since he didn't think he was that tired, but whatever. Color looped across his gaze again and Munchie blinked, staring at his scruffy blue paw until it petered out again, then a lighter blue tint sprung upon the balls of his fingers.

Oh, hey, color. Wait—color. Where did that come from? He thought it'd all disappeared or something, which was apparently possible. For legit colors to sink from existence in those strange holes of frozen time. He was beginning to feel a growing dread, cold, moldy, ugly, stinky, and it built like a pot in his heart and made him feel like if he breathed too hard his breath would reek. Because everyone else had gone unconscious, Munchie tried that and realized, to his relief, it wasn't quite true. "Th-thank gosh..." Wheezing, his voice didn't hold his sound. Pallid. Pale. Ugly. Not... soft, so soft that no other voice even came close, despite the husk wrapped around it safely like a dust covering for a scroll. There were dust coverings, strong, metal, gentle, for scrolls of importance in life. Munchie idly wondered how many might have the image of Treasure Town scrawling with red warnings about how it was the single place with no Mystery Dungeons tainting it. The only uncontaminated spot on Zundentun.

Color stabilized on his hand. "A-ah... that's so—" His voice. It was, like, normal again. Already soft, gentle to the touch, a little warm, a little brittle, and protected by the husk, like a protective boyfriend might his girlfriend. Not that protection was wrong. Oh, screw it, Munchie's face already spiked with red from the comparison. So he changed it to how his husk was Spirit, protecting his gay lover, Chindu, from whatever ailed him. That sounded cuter and made him blush less and feel less awkward, more jovial. Ish. He didn't get much jovial though. In ringlets of color and sound, Waterfall Gave had little granular bits sparking with light in Munchie's eyes. But... no... it wasn't Waterfall Cave. Color returned too fast and the song was too wrong, and it smelled like the jungle, and plus, a green, leafy figure walked out in front of him who looked an awful lot like Influence with actual color.

Whoa—Munchie glimpsed back at Influence, but the unconscious grovyle wasn't even there. He looked down; Ashley's casually slumbering body making use as a quaint table had gone as well, but he still held himself up by an invisible force that must have been her anyways. No snores fell from her lips. It only... it only was proven there by the fact Munchie continued to float in the air like she held him up. And, staring at the plant-woven green biped strutting in front of him, though further off, dizzy, and his motions shook, it seemed as if this could be... what, a flashback? A vision or something? A pop of light followed Influence's spinning motions, like he'd just come from _a burst of spontaneous white light. Like Ashley had._ His step, though... seemed off. And those orbs, those luminous, bright yellow orbs: seemed really off, like he'd lost his rocker. "Who... am I?" Scratchy whisper. Yep, Influence. He went on though and continued stumbling. Munchie thought he'd have to move his head as the vision thingy version of Influence walked off, but it simply followed him, like they were in his point of sight, only hovering slightly off. Munchie... had heard of some pokemon that saw their memories with themselves present—like in the background. Something like that?

The waters clinging to Influence's long, thin legs were hazy, almost wispy, and seemed to beckon him closer, almost call out his name like mystic princesses that wanted to _eat him alive._ Sorry—Munchie was on edge still after that whole yellow outbreak where he thought he had pinkeye but couldn't because the light was yellow. Anything could lash out and eat Influence at that time, really, but it seemed they wouldn't. Hey, in the present, the grovyle had looked pretty alive until Ashley clocked him one and lost consciousness herself—whoa, was she doing this? Was this... her vision of Influence's flashback, only Munchie's falling upon her... let him... see it... too? Best theory he had as of yet. Trying to make sure all the pieces still fit together, Munchie—unable to truly move off of Ashley and stop this vision thing—covered his ears with his hands, the double the fluffy layers blocking out Influence's repeated stumbles, squeezed his dark, dimly lit eyes tight shut, and mumbled stray thoughts together until a few began clicking. "So this is a vision of a flashback. The flashback is of Influence when he first landed here, which Ashley... accessed... after her hand hit him and... they crumpled over. I dunno... if they both... had to fall, but they did, and this started some time before I fell on top of Ashley. But I hit her, and I saw the vision too, but it'd already started." That... made enough sense. Munchie tried to shorten it. "This is Influence's flashback, which Ashley got because she came in direct contact with him, which is why she fainted, and I'm in contact with it because I smashed into her." There. He didn't know how much shorter and simpler he could get. The process was kinda long and tedious.

Munchie tried anyway. He wanted to hear something he felt secure with one last time. "I hit Ashley, who'd hit Influence, and she started this vision of his flashback." It was... a little better. Probably couldn't get much better, but knowing who Munchie was, he probably could have made it smaller if he wasn't so stupid. In the end, the thin munchlax felt satisfied, and he also didn't want to miss more of the vision thingy, so he popped open his eyes and unearthed his ears, to be met with a shock of... nope, no water at all. Somewhere... hot. It emanated red, come on, that had to be hot. Plus the vision produced heat, so Munchie could tell: he... didn't feel so stupid at the moment. Cracked fragments of rock were the walls, which held an unhealthy brown mixture of color and looked ready to collapse. A stench of heat and molten rocks procured. The mumbling grovyle with swishing leaves that he awkwardly yanked at sauntered on, with his arms frozen in front of him, clasped unto a stack of a couple of items, each... quite similar. They held powerful, green auras but the colors, being powerful and green and auras and thus hazy, like mist, had a different composure on each. So different... so similar. But he could feel the power. And he could feel there were parts missing.

As the thin munchlax's ears adjusted to hearing things again because still he had those other layers of dusky blue—yep, still colored—fur, he began to pick up the rough tone of Influence muttering to himself. He looked lonely, and then Munchie wanted to hug him. But he couldn't and he still felt heavy and it sounded better to hand on where he was. "...and even here—but I remember nothing besides these... cog things. They're important, so I should collect them... uhh... I feel their power and their importance, and somehow... I feel like I know where they are. First the waterfall"—he just... he... _Waterfall Cave,_ Munchie wanted to sob out—"then the foggy forest area"—he just... he... _Foggy Forest—_ "and now the volcano surrounded by green." Munchie couldn't remember its name, but that volcano—no. Pine Nut Volcano, surrounded by those lava paths of green and the storms of green lightning, all that crazy stuff. Influence was inside of it, and the lost munchlax easily confirmed it when the grovyle he watched so intently wandered stiffly past a great basin, a hole, with lava right there, sitting and bulging of heat and red, in the ground. Going through a corridor on stiff toes, he encountered a massive, humungous cavern stretched with loops and holes and steaming with smoke and heat and... a lake of red below, burbling as it wriggled. Like it was alive. Influence took an unsafe road very safely with glazed eyes like he'd done it before, and it lead down, down, closer to the freaking lava, until he disappeared altogether. The vision narrowed in on him later in this smaller, cooler cavern with the waves of red as walls, in some circular chamber that looked ceremonial. In the midst gently lied a... another time gear.

He casually plucked the powerful object, placed it atop his pile, and moved onward. Something scary rumbled in the distance, but it was like Influence the amnesiac didn't even notice. That... that was bad. That was bad bad bad bad bad.

He didn't know how many time gears Influence had, but when he and Ashley ran into him, it was obvious none of them had been in his possession. And... he recalled Jordan letting him in, how they all wanted to trust him only had to wait and were done waiting and the female gallade let it out, let him know... and how removing the time gears... how they would grow loose and weak and... bad things. They had to be watched over, had to be cared for. If one went missing, it could be reproduced, but... one had to be careful. These were the cogs of Zundentun, and they held onto the entire world. Bad things bad things bad things. They... had been removed... by a bumbling buffoon who... like Ashley, like whatever magical place he'd never heard of that they came from, realized and understood their need to be beautiful and nice and well-kept or someone... would be hurt. No... many, many lives would be hurt. From what he now knew, unstable and bad time gears, cogs not in place, would make the spoke weak and would make the world... He felt with certainty the world, first with Zundentun, then everywhere else, would be overcome by something a lot like what happened here at the good old Waterfall Cave, the... first hotspot of a time gear center that Influence had removed. And... Munchie understood that the more this happened, the longer this idly stayed, the longer nobody did anything, the worse it would get. Treasure Town was screwed, and they didn't even realize it.

Influence, he felt in his heart, had at least those time gears. Munchie didn't know how many were out there: maybe... he didn't know, using his eavesdropping powers, he'd say the representation might go one for Truught, one for Uytee, one for Venturus, one for Warldo, one for Xendrandentus, one for Yoctta, and... one for Zundentun. Or maybe one to represent all but Zundentun. He didn't know, just a harmless gander. Munchie couldn't help feeling it was his best bet at the time. Whether it meant his theory was close to being true, or just close to being completely, horridly wrong, Munchie couldn't be certain. His pertaining to give himself the bad bits of life as an excuse and to say that he'd probably get the worst thing possible meant he usually overly enjoyed what he did get and was usually wrong about everything. He guessed... that sort of made him a pessimist? No, no, he had low expectations. He didn't think much. Getting something at all that was even remotely nice meant good to him. What Ashley had said prior... about how he'd find some really nice girl or something that meant a lot to him like that... He shook his head. That... no no no no no. That was not how life worked, stupid munchlax. Maybe she'd find her nice guy; wait that had to be Influence. She... Now that Munchie lingered on it, the slight pain and the pant in Ashley's eyes, at the pause before she slapped him and he was struggling with amnesia, then her voice, seemed less exaggerated and more real, more there, flashing with color and pain like no other, cutting at his heart. She definitely had her Influence for her, and seeing him in such a state must have shook her up some on the inside. She didn't reveal what turmoil might live in there...

Shaking himself, Munchie blinked and rubbed at his eyes, then slapped at his face for good measure, and rolled off of Ashley's table-like back that'd held him up so well, for it was time to go and search out help. The longer the showing of time gears lingered in her gaze, the longer it went on, the longer it seemed... she wouldn't be waking. Was... was Ashley stuck or something? The munchlax shuddered at the idea as he did not know. Not at all. That... whole... thing... was odd. Made him question what kind of relatives she had to make her like that. Did... she have a legend as a parent or something? Like a chimchar evolution and a... a legend—if that even was possible? Munchie well enough understood legends were to magic as pokemon were to reality, just about, and they had absolutely no control over their domain, just as pokemon didn't have any as well. But... to mix each side together... Or maybe her dad was really scary. She'd called him very unkind words, so he probably wasn't someone she looked up to or anything. Ashley seemed like one of the rebellious pokemon that wouldn't listen to her dad, though. So maybe he was actually a nice guy but the chimchar was so rebellious and all of that they didn't bode well. Oh, Munchie gave up. He didn't know anything anymore. Thoughts stopped colliding.

All the munchlax really did know with a sticking certainty was that he had to do something. He had to find a way to help his dear chimchar friend, because she looked... zonked. Zonked like her mate that she'd hit rather hard. Maybe, it dawned on him, that was why she wanted him to find someone nice like him. Because she had crazy weirdo amnesiac Influence. Wait—Munchie let up for a moment before moving out of his curled-up position. Was he... jealous—of Influence? Oh, he hoped not, he didn't... oh no Ashley was close to him but not like... what? No. Oh geez no he didn't think he could feel whatever emotion that was with anyone, no. That... sounded a little... out of his zone... anyways. Plus, there was no way there could be a nice girl waiting for him like that. Or a nice boy, for that matter. He did not have the Spirit to his Chindu—or the Chindu to his Spirit—or whatever. Or the Influence to his Ashley, or the Ashley to his Influence. He was... happy... where he was. Sort of. He didn't really know, he was Munchie, he lived off of the bad scraps of life to keep everything remotely happy to look like the best thing in the world. Whatever, man, it worked. That was... sort of what mattered.

Munchie slowly, in slurred motions, picked himself up off the ground that should have been sandy with granular particles coating him, but it didn't, because it was all weird and stuff and was... frozen. Whatever freaking term it used: he was upset that Ashley had fallen, and he was upset that his favorite of all Mystery Dungeons had been the first to wreck. He really had to figure out what was going on and try to find those time gears and try to save Ashley. He would look for the others and—oh, maybe save that leafy biped of hers too. Right. Influence. Probably shouldn't leave him behind, quietly grunted the munchlax silently denying that he had something or another to pick with that freaking grovyle mate of Ashley's. Munchie silently shook his head and decided no, he had no problem that Ashley found herself someone she love some time ago, but now it just hurt to think of and imagine. He... didn't expect it. But he should have. Ashley said she wasn't so great, but he didn't feel that way. This thin soul saw enough with his hope-rimmed orbs. He saw enough.

Shaking his head, he plotted a route in his head on where... how he had to get back to the guild, and it'd probably be morning, and he'd have to pretend he'd gone out for fresh air just at dawn and he did not stay up last night with the chimchar he followed often, nope, they of course wouldn't break the one big rule of the guild. A silent realization was that everyone got along like a big merry family, but it wasn't the big rule: nobody should ever go nocturnal. No, wait; the more Munchie thought about it, the more he remembered the real big rule, that no one should go off alone, everyone had to stick together. But the way Spirit painted it out so brightly and scarily, as if he'd used his own wigglytuff blood to coat it pointedly, that _we don't do nocturnal here_. It started to go to Munchie's head and his breath went woozy, his movements unsteady, freaky, frenzied, and he rammed into a few walls of gray that looked like everything else in his favorite Mystery Dungeon until that shell of a bubble, like a chair, showed in the frozen waterfall, and Munchie slipped through it without so much as a bruised bump on his head or ruffled fur, and he stepped out from its wet confines, crawled past a few more splotches of watery cavern or sand or such, and walked on. And... gray.

It had grown. That strange, gray emptiness had grown. Sure, not all that much from where the line had been prior, but it had grown. Squealing like an imbecile that had lost its mind long ago, Munchie sprinted with his limbs flailing fearfully about him like they wanted to do the running and detach from his body—thankfully which he managed to not let them go. His hope-rimmed eyes that didn't look very hope-rimmed, just gray, no ability to distinguish pupil from iris from whites from any of it, continued to widen as it was. One could tell a difference of the eyes and the fur around his face because his fur happened to be fluffy and spiny in the nerve-rendered spots. Not smooth, slimy, eggshell. So there was a difference line, but it wasn't enough. He could hardly hear his own toneless cry as he ran and lost his mind until eventually Munchie looked around and something hard and scratchy practically bonked his brains right out. The satisfying _donk!_ from its landing let him see he'd come back to the light again. Though his dear chimchar friend and her freaking mate had been left behind, still in mottled, knotted messes of unconscious limbs, Munchie had made it. He scooped up the thing that donked him and checked out its scratchy, brown, almost hairy surface. A coconut. A coconut had nearly become a murderer that day. He felt relieved he hadn't turned it into one, and, detecting his spike in thirst, cracked the hairy nut on the rough, milky brown tree in front of him, slurping down the milk within soon as a crack surfaced. Geez, running like a lunatic sure burned carbs, especially when those carbs already burned quickly due to being a munchlax and the need of food rumbled in his belly.

Being not one to judge, he shrugged his scruffy, dusk blue shoulders—contrast from the light of day in sheen above—and gobbled down the coconut too, the thin, rough texture on the outside to the thick, white goop on the in where the milk once lay. After that one finished and a burp emerged like a squishy plop, Munchie fed on more coconuts until his munchlax belly sat like a fat king on its artery throne and declared itself pudgy and full. Of course, his disappointing metabolism would burn fat quickly and keep him from his rightful munchlax size, keep him skinny and thin though he was also... a little tall, they didn't take that munchlax trait from him. And of course he had those normal munchlax things, like the crooked teeth that always stuck out at the ends of his lips, always... and he pretty much looked like one besides being painfully thin.

Yawning softly, rubbing at his eyes some more, Munchie wandered past the palm trees that produced his odd little breakfast and scrambled up through some more routes he'd started to know, just going a straight south and following the hollow, orange trails festering steam from below that warmed the feet just walking on them since those were the Steam Tunnels below, and they were a hectic network relatively well at organizing where things went. Over cracked, orange ground until it let off, Munchie managed his climb downward and forward and into the opening of Treasure Town, where the nicely-trimmed walkways of brown, soft dirt led him on until he felt like he should have turned off to that one trail, the sharp right, that went up the hill overlooking many things, but he... couldn't find it. What. What. He... he couldn't... what? But Munchie blinked, and the swarming mass of colorful bodies that became a sight for sore, colorless eyes that could once again see and hear and oh did his ears ache, a sound for sore ears, but still the pathway... it must have been blocked by all the stupid pokemon. Munchie had to find his friends. He had to. Where were the—

Cold hand. His shoulder. Hovering nearby. Breath on his ear from much more above. "Tag." No, Drynt, he didn't play tag and—oh yeah that's what the elgyem said to let the others see him. Relax, Munchie. Mystic used that all the time as it was, and so did Spirit; he should have been calm by then. "Munchie, do you feel well? I understand if you had to go out early. What went on was a little... much. Would you... like to talk about any of it?" The calm, green, gem-like elgyem then did something Munchie didn't know he had the capability of doing. Those somewhat short, green legs swept from the air and they stood, on flat feet, on... the dirt. A shudder. "I forgot how cold land was," he mumbled weakly, blinking those pretty, multicolored eyes. Drynt, when standing, happened to be under Munchie's height, even without including his angular ears. A little... under. The munchlax couldn't help but smile slightly at that notion, that he... he did beat his gem-like friend. He was... so thankful for those friends of his. "What's... going on?"

Munchie sucked in cool air and churned for thoughts, heart pumping bashfully at being so close to the elgyem who... well, yeah, he'd just put his feet on the ground for him. They were... that much closer to each other. "I... it's a lot to take in, Drynt..." Munchie whispered back, softly, "it's just... all over the place. I... you guys... the time gears: everything. And now something bad happened to the Waterfall Cave, and that really treads on my heartstrings, and... it hurts a little." It reminded him of something. Still feeling cautious, Munchie took a pause and his eyes wandered toward Drynt, whose emerald green head nodded in encouragement, softly, with a little Drynt smile on his lips, which comforted him in the middle of the sunlight, let ease shine down on him. "Did you... really cry about me? And... um..." He asked a few other questions, so the elgyem could, like, choose, without feeling all awkward. About the time gears, about the very bad thing, about losing them... about friends.

"I'll say, yes, I did cry for you." He answered the awkward one first? He... he answered the awkward one first! Munchie felt like he could fly out into outer space and run around the planet a few times and come back down, then evolve into a pretty ponyta with beautiful curls and show everyone up. Joy. It was joy—yep, he felt it. Munchie felt... happy... to have those pokemon on his side: yes, and Drynt too, oh Drynt. "Mm... The time gears are a very interesting matter. But... yes, all of them have gone missing. There's... one in the Waterfall Cave, which was taken first, which is why it's the most disrupted one. There's one in a peak of the Foggy Forest, known as Shinely. There happens to be one in the midst of the Pine Nut Volcano, and another in the very... hidden depths of the Southern Desert. One rests on the faithful Great Shiku Tree, far up in its most highest branches in the hazy skies of gray. The final one... sits in the open plains of Devaur. We have maps of these in that first room... and they're each gently engraved. A single time gear has enough points on each side to account for all places, in a way." Yes. One on top, one on bottom, a couple on one side and a couple on the other. It... fit. Very well. He saw it, then. "They... hold everything in peace.

"Without them... no, not quite." Every pause Drynt had was gentle, soft, sweet. Munchie found that endearing and... a nice habit of his. He had such a wispy tone, and only small bits of emotion melded in with that usual coldness. But the chill only made him feel warmer. "Not without them, but... the time gears need to be carefully tended. They need... guardians, which are us. Those to tend to them, to watch over them... keep each gear shining, and bright, and bountiful. To give its blessings off to the world as it is, where it can. Its sole purpose is to forever provide us, but if we don't recognize this, don't be thankful, don't watch over, don't love our Mystery Dungeons—if there's nobody to care for them... they will be lost, and... bad things will happen." The bad things. A trill of chill slowly crawled down Munchie's spine, and burned at the pit of it. "It... starts... with the loss of everything." Starts—it only started with that terrible loss of... all? "The.. time gears, have been disturbed prior, so we know this much. And we know that... other things can happen. Pokemon... lose their minds. Lose their wills. They are lost to what is left of the world, without its magics. This where we're at now—it can easily be fixed. If the original time gear was disturbed, we can help the base procure another, and if not, we must return the one that is out there still. Thank goodness it seems only the Waterfall Cave was disturbed but... from your look—the others... will... as well—if not now, then soon." Drynt seriously knew all. "It... seems likely. We must take care in our world, my friend. We must... take care.

"And you ask... about friends? I guess that's us. All of us. We care for you. The word friend is a light term for something... much deeper. I feel that some friends... stay friends for a long time. And will be connected. We are your friends, Munchie, and we want to help you however we can." Drynt continued his soft tone for a time, simply counseling Munchie, and yours truly felt... a calm within his chest. The elgyem was a comfort, whether he realized it or not. He gave off an aura that felt kind and safe, once they could see that his voice did have a little cold shard that made the warmth that much more inviting. Some words that Drynt quietly told him gave a rhythm, a thrumming tick, that he felt he would remember. _These time gears... our knowledge of them comes from our exploration of them, our finding of them, and our learning of them. We wouldn't be able to do any of what we have without one another._ Word of similar tune may arrive after, but Munchie felt as though he connected with that part. It... brought its own calling of reason in the world, one the munchlax happily accepted. He smiled to himself, and Drynt smiled a little more too.

Munchie was... at a peace for a moment. Thoughts began to recollect, but the peace remained. As such occurred within him, he suddenly recalled where Ashley was—and her... uh... mate—and that he had to figure out how to help her because she looked like she was in a heck of a lot of pain, and her mate was kind of zonked out, and it was just overall bad. And—those who could help: his friends. Their friends. He couldn't believe how much he used that word. Finally, he'd found... or at least he thought he found a purpose. Spirit Bright had felt pretty stable... but what Ashley was doing made it look like he really was in for it. All of the sacred freaking time gears had been stolen by her amnesiac mate for some reason and she would have explained but she lost the time: wait... why... why did she and Influence seem so... knowledgeable... around those green things? The ones who knew most of them were the pokemon of Zundentun, and those in the guild, and... they obviously felt something bad would happen did their cared time gears go awry, but... Ashley acted like she knew. He recalled when the dear, deaf chimchar first found him and how... surprised, she'd looked, when she saw everything, but how fast she adapted. Like... it was weird but she'd roll with it. And she came from spontaneous light: and she knew time gears.

Was she... a god..?

No wait no she wasn't. She... it was something else, something important, something crazy that would probably blow his mind once the pieces fit. But as of that precise moment, the pieces were still lying on the table untouched. Munchie's single need was to try and help her, however he could, and it seemed summoning his friends would do the trick. Just as the munchlax turned around to ask his dear pal Drynt this important question he needed to get through, they needed to use, this random creature from Treasure Town squealed in a very unladylike tone: "OHHH MAAII GAAWWSSHHH! LOOK IT'S THE HUUUUNKK!" The what. "THE HUUUNK! THEHUNKTHEHUNKTHEHUNKTHEHUNK." Oh, the hunk; what was a hunk? A hunk of cheese? A... hunk of... what? What was the hunk? Surely Munchie hadn't messed up, but beside him, Drynt lifted into his levitation above once more and, multicolored eyes narrowed like sharp blades of gems, pinpointed and waved with his hand and red-blue-and-yellow fingers to where this sort of wisp creature lied, his one, quite nicely-crafted eye lurking slowly, the color of a sweet strawberry. And he had a pretty eye. No wait, the other eye opened too—wait no that was all one gigantic eye. Man, was that eye pretty. Though Munchie still thought Drynt and Ashley had way prettier eyes—shh. Seriously, Drynt's were like a ton of different gems and mixed elegantly, and Ashley's were fire. Mystic had pretty gold ones as well. Chindu's, Munchie found, to be a quite calming sort of red. Spirit's were kind of a weird cloudy, Byrender's were little pinpoints, and he never quite saw Jordan's. Now that... that was the hunk?

As if he could read minds, the angular, white head turned for Munchie, but the eye seemed to brighten a little cheerfully. Not a bad guy. Okay. Well... maybe not a bad guy. Munchie had never known a bad guy, or at least someone he'd consider a villain, in his pathetic life, so he wasn't much of a judge. Well, either way, to his side, the hovering Drynt didn't crash and his face didn't pinch up or glow red as he looked at the wispy guy. All he had to say was, "Some muscles that creature pertains." Munchie nodded with a cotton-stuffed head. Some muscles. Creature fit the description of that thing very well because most of his body was sown as one by the seeds of darkness spouting from golden holes in his chest and what looked like a gold... zigzag... mouth... on his stomach that could completely tear open... at will, maybe? Well the guy was this huge black wisp but his head was white and he seemed really prim and proper and kind of cool, honestly. Drynt didn't seem to mind him, either. "Come, Munchie; I believe this creature has seen us and looks to want our attention. Perchance he recognizes us or something of the sort. Try to avoid the females and males that cannot stop shouting over how much they love him. Strange pokemon."

Munchie could only agree. Strange pokemon some were, strange indeed. There were gobs of girls and gay boys shouting about how much they loved the wisp guy whose name had yet to be announced. His one strawberry-colored orb glistened as it swerved and caught sight of the elgyem and badly-lagging-behind munchlax that had a weight problem. The whole head shook and muscles on arms clenched with his white fists. "Aaah-hah! It seems I've found the right pokemon, oh, finally! Cheerio and all of that~" He didn't even have the accent, but a stuffy, dark tone that seemed strained with joy. Not a fake joy, though, just too much crazed happiness on his part. A frenzy of joy. Weird but seemed to be happening. Munchie could only roll with it, as Byrender would proclaim. He smiled a little at that—still had yet to make his own catchphrase, but he kept on-and-off racking his mind over one. One day... Munchie would have something he could use and maybe if the other liked it they'd use it too. Surely his catchphrase would be ugly and terrible, but... But still; the poor, thin munchlax couldn't help it.

That odd voice driveled on. "What-ho! Come, you! I believe we share business." The big pokemon made of wisp and odd muscle used his gigantic hands to shoo away other bystanders so that he could... stand... almost directly beside the also-floating Drynt and his pal Munchie who scuttled on from behind, out of breath and full of weak, awkward giggles. He'd tried. "Oh, youuuu... my friends, I believe you and I: we both share a common friend, no?" Guy was talking in riddles. Munchie's head ached. "I... I am Dusknoir, the great explorer of no name. And I believe Spirit would love to see of me." Drynt and Munchie both knew that Spirit had no thought whatsoever to the other explorers because none of them had tried living in Treasure Town with all the crazy idiots—and there were sure busy roads chock-full of them—who disliked Mystery Dungeons with a passion, and also the white-furred and orange-tinged wigglytuff simply didn't care all that much for those who didn't much pester him. He eventually forgot about those who didn't dust on his life. He and Drynt, though; they said none of the sort. It'd be rude, especially when Spirit himself had been recognized. "I would love to have the chance to sit and speak with your leader and all of your pokemon troops, please~ Yes, indubitably; oh, cheerio! I must sit and comply with him about the important matters of time gears!" Ooh, he'd said the word... Sharing a glance with an even-more hesitant, obviously reluctant, stiffening elgyem the color of a gleaming emerald, he shrugged. Drynt, blinking, shrugged back slowly. They both were pretty lost, but still; it'd be rude not to.

"O-of course we'll let you stay here for a time! Please, we-we'd love the company!" It was funny how ironic that entire statement had been, and it felt stale on Munchie's tongue. But what should he have said when the guy practically invited himself on over? Plus, Dusknoir the dusknoir looked a little freaky—and in a much more eerie notion that anything he'd gotten from Jordan. Munchie liked the female gallade and wanted to call her his friend, feeling joyous he could. This... Dusknoir, right, he didn't look right. Just... seriously didn't. But it was too late, Munchie had said something, either way he couldn't think of a better response, and the wispy black guy with the muscles kept on staring that one eye the color of strawberries. Munchie's soft and husky tone snapped through: "L-let's go _oo—"_ He winced at that, but it didn't fix anything. Munchie... Munchie had tried. He toggled with thoughts on the scary dusknoir guy and Ashley's predicament, trying to stay focused on one but he couldn't lose the other. As much as he wanted to ditch everything and run for his chimchar friend, life did not work that way, and life wanted Munchie to show off this scary Dusknoir dude. He hoped this guy didn't come from wherever Ashley and her buddy Influence had. Then again, this guy knew time gears; oh, Ashley knew them too. He wondered if there was a connection, but at the same time, the only important connection was his friendship with Ashley.

Munchie muttered a quick, soft whisper to Drynt. "Was that a bad idea?"

"Not... not quite," softly assured the elgyem. His lips had hardly moved at all.

"A-ah... I thought it might be. I could've said no but I did nothing like that."

Drynt blinked softly, slowly. "We all make mistakes. Plus, this looked like it may have been more of a good idea than anything else." After a pause, he added: "Dusknoir... doesn't seem so bad. He could be useful in our group's arsenal, in some ways. He may know ideals about topics that we haven't quite breached, or provide useful information. And no matter what could be broached, he seems likeable." Oh geez, did that elgyem know how to make someone feel good about themselves. Something warm and fuzzy emerged like a hairball in Munchie's heart, but as it combed out, all he saw was flowing waves of golden beauty. The hairball had straightened out and it was pretty. Pretty enough for him. Smiling to himself, hoping the gem-like emerald creature wouldn't take it the wrong way, Munchie bobbled his head in a nod and turned back to face the incredibly-overly-eager dusknoir dude with the one red eye throbbing of the color, and Munchie felt as if he could stare into that large orb for long enough to let its red eye fluids suck him up and murder him. Yes he couldn't shake off the feeling that something wanted to creep up in the night with a satisfying _ssslluuuuuuurrrrrrrrrcchhh_ by his bed and then whip up gooey entrails and swallow him whole. Munchie's stomach gurgled at the thought: it was a bad thought, a thought he wanted to dispose of then.

Shaking his head, he tried to label reasons on why this was, right, a smart plan, and he should have been happy he'd gone and suggested ol' Dusknoir here to join their humble abode since it seemed like a well-rehearsed idea that could be... sort of helpful. "What are we waiting, my boys?" _Your_ boys? Since when was he _his_ boy? Since when was he _that weirdo's_ boy, huh? "Come, come; let us be off!" Those huge, white hands flapped like massive wings and the fingers stuck out like fat feathers. Nowhere else to go, Munchie stumbled onward, a plainly hesitant Drynt to the slight front of him, continuing to levitate because it probably wasn't rude to do that in front of guests. The hint that Dusknoir followed his boys was how whenever passerby were scoured about, they'd coo or cry out because some vague reason shined that this guy was... well... _the hunk._ Whatever that hopeless thing could be describing. Anyway, what even was a hunk? He didn't get any answers, not that Munchie minded. He stopped being sure whether he actually wanted the answer to that question.

They acted casual as they led the scary wisp man that was very large down the peaceful trail of Treasure Town, the streets almost eerily quiet if its silence hadn't been so serene. The usual jubilee had died out, and peace feathered about the crowded, crammed town. It usually was loud and sure, happy, but mostly loud and untidy to the thin munchlax and his sensitive, awkwardly-angular ears the color of dark in the middle of such lightness. This new calmness descended upon and collected, pooled, filed, by that creepy dusknoir with the strawberry-red eye happened to be a thing Munchie rather enjoyed. Yep, he tossed all regrets of meeting this guy aside and felt spontaneous for running into them and thus forcing their fates to collide. He couldn't help but compare this jaunty guy with the pinching, deep tone that trickled down one's throat and made it hard to swallow to his meet of Ashley, and how they had been a sort of alone until meeting, and thus their lone silhouettes had collided and such sadness didn't have to be shed. No tears. Well, no, that was a lie: how many times had this poor, thin freak ripped into tears like a tattered birthday present already? Don't answer that. He didn't want to see the results. It'd just further scar his emotionally marred figure.

Anyway, on they went. Well, on Munchie went. Old buddy Drynt kept on levitating, though his body afloat still hovered near Munchie so that his emerald-shaped and -colored head at least situated to his side. Did the elgyem suddenly have a need to blow on Munchie's face a mark of a puff of air, he could. Oddly, being in such close range comforted him, creepy as it was. Who knew, maybe from that spacing Drynt could even feel his breath, and Munchie's breath, be channeled and their warmth was being forced against one another. They were forcing themselves to heat, perhaps. Munchie blinked plainly at the thought and tried to hide the sudden rush of turmoil within. How easy it soon became to adapt and crawl up the festering, orange tail, only swerving to a left at the bumpy road on the edge with more humps than a camerupt did on its rough, warty back. That... that said something. Still, only Munchie felt such warts as he was the only one using his actual feet in this entire stroll. Though it was a bit too stressful to be a stroll. Those were limpid and upbeat; this was not.

That swerve became its own long, winding trail of orange, more like a streak of camerupt warts—he'd gotten attached to that metaphor from prior—that continued left and left and left until they weren't really going left just up and around and back to the middle of subdued Treasure Town, only at the top of it in the white tent with orange tinges of Spirit Bright. Munchie's teeth gnashed together worriedly and his eyes seemed frightened to close on their own. Blinking became a struggle: a struggle he didn't want to go through. If only he could stop, but it was like breathing and he couldn't and if he thought about it too long it wasn't unconscious breathing or blinking anymore and he had to force himself to do it until it stopped being conscious but darn it he didn't want to blink okay. Munchie could just feel the cold breath of Dusknoir's tiny mouth—or maybe the yellow jagged thing was the mouth—billowing all about him, and the more he thought about it the more he felt pretty sure that yellow mouth was spewing it. That word, that color, yellow jabbed his brain, and he felt like he'd found its source.

Entering the tent's flap doors just reaching out to hug him and Drynt, then suddenly slapping closed as Dusknoir tried to wisp himself in or however he moved, some sort of... wispy teleport junk. He didn't know. Don't ask Munchie; ask freaking Drynt. He and the elgyem watched this extremely ominous move and whistled awkwardly through their front teeth as they stared longer. Munchie's eyes felt like they'd burn into combustion at any moment from his looking, like it was wrong to watch a big black wisp get attacked by flap doors the color of their leader's long, white furs that covered the majority of his body. Dusknoir angrily shouted a word that should have been a curse but came out garbled like being a ghost meant he'd signed a birth contract that he couldn't curse or something: Munchie didn't have the details since he only knew... fire, water, flying, normal, psychic, and... uh... psychic and fighting. None of those really mixed in with big scary ghost man Dusknoir with no name.

You bet everyone stared when they clambered down to the bottom floor of the guild, their feet—no wait only Munchie's as he was the only one not levitating—crunching against the solid carpet of gentle green grass below. Yep, he got stares; yep, everyone probably noticed the lack of Ashley and saw that Munchie had been restored but the chimchar he kept bouncing around or she who kept bouncing around him... not quite. But hey, Munchie was up and he didn't look nocturnal. Mystic, smirking a little on her chubby, orange-spiked cheeks, giggling at the sight, waddled up on her paws and whispered, "Whoa, who's turned gay? You... you're all guys... ohmygosh who's gay now? Who's gay? Who's gay? WHO'S GAY?" Munchie's heart fled from the situation and nestled itself somewhere far away so it didn't have to put up with such slander. Honestly, none of them were, far as he could tell. Maybe Dusknoir was gay. Did Mystic have a gay sensor or something in her?

"Gay? By what—possibly—could you, little girl, be referring toward?" Nope apparently not. She had no sensor. She just wanted to see gay pokemon. "I live for the girrr _rrrllls~_ " By then that one red eye had wandered off and caught whiff of Jordan's turquoise hair in the long strands down her back and the mixture of turquoise and green bangs scattered so long and so perfectly across her pretty, porcelain face that nobody could see her eyes for some strange reasoning of hers. Maybe female gallades had messed up eyes. But oh did Dusknoir see the hair, and he shrugged this off but then he saw the chest and was like _oh yeah that's a female alright._ Keeping upbeat and in tune with his last comment, Munchie turned and saw the guy staring at one of his best friends like she was a dessert. "Aaaaaahh... hell-ooooo there~" he purred like an insolent pest who wanted to eat his buddy Jordan. Munchie angrily flung himself at Dusknoir but went through his black body. Thankfully the guy was too invested staring at places it was rude to be staring at—at a female, which he shouldn't be staring at, it was rude—to notice that a thin, dusk-furred munchlax had tried to attack and failed. Jordan, though, saw this, and he could feel her hidden gaze penetrating his back as it went missing through folds of cold, excessively freezing particles of fog-like black and Munchie stumbled and tried to cry out but black smoke took his breath away and black smoke sent his eyes reeling and tears to broil at an astronomically fast rate, even for him and they spilled all over the place and Munchie flailed then he fell out, breathing, panting, spitting black like he'd smoked something. He didn't smoke. There were some weirdos he'd eavesdropped on around Treasure Town that did and were freaking crazy, so Munchie knew he'd better not get a hold of those pipe things in his near future. This was as close as he'd get to legit smoke.

Everyone showed up and settled down, sitting casually in a circle like children on the grassy floor on the bottom of Spirit Bright. Spirit had shown last, Chindu just in front of him, both appearing more than slightly annoyed to be wrangled out of their room. Munchie... really didn't want to know why. Nobody questioned it, and for that he was grateful. The black-feathered bird sat to one side of his dusky self now crumpled with spots of black. To his other loftily _fumped_ a certain caramel-colored biped who was huge and had lots of long, puffy fur that color. But his big, flat tail was the darker brown, also present on his face and little doll hands and feet that surprisingly were smaller than Ashley's: they'd checked, on occasion. "H-hey, Byrender," mumbled the munchlax. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to life. Why wouldn't the stupid fog go away. Oh well, he supposed: karma. Don't attack pokemon, even if they're staring at Jordan creepily.

Munchie quietly noted that indeed, he sat next to her in the circle, awkwardly hunched with his black, wispy form. Sighting this, angrily scowling, face streaked with red, the gallade of course noticed how his big, white hands were poised and tossed a harsh whisper at the mudkip further down the circle, whose face spiraled as she tried to take the hit, then nodded, her floppy blue fin on top wriggling, and waddled into a place so that the poor girl wouldn't have to be so close to the scary man. Munchie agreed; he did not like that dusknoir guy not one bit—nope—not—not one bit. Spirit was on Chindu's other side, which went to Dusknoir, then tiny Mystic and Jordan, then Drynt who refused to stop floating and splayed out, thus able to take in Mystic's lost spot beside him as well, and then Byrender, and then Munchie. As their talk was about to begin, or whatever this was gonna be, Byrender heftily whispered back, "Sup, my man." His man? _His?_ Unlike with creepy floaty dusknoir guy, Munchie felt comforted by the statement and let the caramel fur to his side, like a big, warm, welcoming wall, rub by him slightly. He felt safer like that. Chindu suddenly snorted and his eyes glazed upon the wisp of black nearby.

"So I'd take it you're Dusknoir who apparently some of our children brought in for you." His flowery tone suggested Drynt and Munchie had grabbed some carrion and brought it back for everyone. The entire, gentle outlook spoiled some in glare at him. He, of course, with those cutting orbs, had saw how many black splotches were on Munchie and assumed correctly their source. "And this all so you could find us in the first place. Peculiar, may I say?" Dusknoir's scary, white face the size of a good chunk of rock nodded a thick nod. "I may; I may. We have not a clue why you've come here and what the heck you're doing here, but it would be very nice to have a few words so _sweetly, kindly_ provided by your care." He sounded like he was trying to butter him up. If there was one thing Chindu knew how to do, it was accidentally take a man's heart. He'd apparently done that to Spirit, which got him to fall head-over-heels for him, and Chindu thought he liked girls, but then he went gay or something and it was all happy. Munchie didn't know all the details. Then his mind registered that he'd been called one of Chindu's children and he didn't know what to say. It... kind of made him happy. A bit. A warmth burned through his fur, to his heart, at it.

"I suppose I could lift your foggy heads from the storm I dearly apologize for blowing you into." This dark but jovial and strange, strange accent blew Munchie's brain off the edge. He'd been doing okay until just then. Freaking Dusknoir. "See... your—our—world"—gee nice that pause totally didn't make him suspicious _take that Munchie knew these things sucker—"_ that we share, together, no matter how far away your humble abode is from others"—dude, just stop talking, it was painful—"has these small, detailed creations that string it all as one, and what completely connects every single pokemon altogether. And these... may I softly reveal... these... are..."

"TIME GEARS WOOHOO!"

"MYSTIC CAN YOU NOT?"

"HAHA I DIDN'T KNOW MY GAY LOVE COULD SHOUT THAT LOUD."

"SPIRIT STOP IT YOU BOTH."

Pairs of dialogue shot past each other and left Dusknoir most surely confused. He didn't know the way of the guild, and he never would, and that bestowed upon the shriveled munchlax a smile. If Dusknoir blew his way out soon... maybe he could tell the others— _about poor Ashley and that they needed to save her._ He... had to garner their attention himself. No one else knew. No one else understood like he did. As Dusknoir began all over again from the beginning, already painfully treading on specific words he'd already used like this was some speech he gave to everyone before taking over their minds and Spirit Bright was the only team that had yet to follow—if that was true, he knew they'd flip the table soon enough—but Munchie also began to see, as he was just scratching the surface of all the stuff he and his friends knew, they _knew this,_ that Dusknoir didn't take account of everyone in the circle. He was completely smitten for poor Jordan who was not having this, and of course Spirit and Chindu because the red-beaked bird looked ready to tear through him, making himself entirely red, while Spirit kept interrupting with purposely idiotic ideas that found laughs in everyone because nobody liked this situation. Mystic went along with that, so she was noticed more too. If they were the big, bright dandelions, that made Munchie and Byrender and Drynt the shards of nothingness. Nope. None at all.

He... could go back to Ashley and see if she had recovered. And they could try to use that vision thing to find the time gears and get those back, and then try to wake up Influence, too. But... he could just... go back? And what if she wasn't okay? What about the help he needed to find that he currently lacked..? And who could he go to? His friends were stuck here and if he and Byrender and Drynt all swooned off or started banter, surely they'd be noticed and he'd lose his cue for a time as Dusknoir stumbled upon topics everyone, freaking, knew. Okay. Then came the yellow by his shoulder—the real yellow—and Munchie almost wanted to cry out but he didn't so since nobody would really notice he turned his head and there sat yellow, and it was a girl. A tall... tall girl. Taller than Ashley, but still only up to Munchie's... he didn't know. A little past his chest, maybe. She looked tall, though, because pichu wasn't a tall pokemon. Long, angular, yellow ears with black stripes dominated her head, then down to the cool, blue orbs with little hints of the other colors wafting in, and her soft, rounded mouth, and the pink splotches on her yellow cheeks: a sunrise painted with cherry blossoms. Her chest had been mostly covered by a gentle pink scarf, excessively long and wrinkled, and the rest of her body—her small hands and feet—were mostly yellow as well, save the spot or so of black.

She raised a hand in greetings. Munchie didn't know if she was mute or not, but would that be a rude question to ask? He didn't know. Ashley had outright told him she couldn't hear; this girl... just watched him silently. Though he supposed if she was mute then she couldn't tell him. "Are you m-mute?" A shake of the head, ears splaying out like clouds on a windy day. "Are you... the... yellow?" He had to ask, as awkward as it was, and to his surprise, yes, a bobbling nod. She was... the yellow he kept seeing. Woo-hoo, Munchie's vision wasn't impaired! "Is your... um... name... Yellow?" Another shake of the head, this one similar to trees _whishing_ in the wind. She blinked as her head would do the talking for her. He supposed he couldn't really ask why she wasn't talking. But it seemed that pichu girl was here to help and even less noticed than the others. Munchie perhaps couldn't get out a why, but he could... she could... help. He couldn't get out a why just yet, as weird as this entire thing felt, but he could at least pester her some. That... could be essential to helping. Munchie's voice lowered and he began a traipsing trail of questions, gently worded so that her yes-or-no standards complied.

"Are you here to help me?"  
Head bobbled, like a bouncing ball. Yes.  
He wanted to ask why she was here, why she was helping, but he'd have to get all specific and he didn't want to. So just a simple, "Is there any specific reason, um, why, you are here, and why you help me?"  
And... no head movement whatsoever. He took it even the yes-or-no questions sometimes had faults to them. She didn't want to answer it, so he moved on.  
"Is it about Dusknoir?"  
Her face upturned in a wild smirk and her head billowed back and forth like a hurricane, no no no no no.  
"Is it about... Ashley?" No movement. "M-my friend, the chimchar who curses a lot?" Slight nod. "And... maybe... her mate—that stupid—Influence, the amnesiac grovyle?"  
Much, much nodding. Yes yes yes. Here, here was her turf, and she knew how to aide it. The pichu felt at home with this information.  
"Should I... go to her; or do we have to help him first?"  
A head nod slow, then a slow shake, then a slow nod.  
"Um... I help him later? Go to her now?"  
Yes; yes; yes! Flurried nods like children tossing snowballs at each other in the snowy Mystery Dungeons.  
"Do I come back to you after I check on her, then?"  
A final nod dominated. He'd found enough. He'd found everything he really needed at the moment. Direct needs first. And... she'd even kept him on track. How nice... of her. He didn't even have a name, just the yellow, because that was how he'd seen her until she actually showed herself, but he thanked her softly and scurried up the ladder—then stopped, jumped down a few pegs, and still completely, outrageously ignored by Dusknoir, poked Byrender on his rather enormous back.

"Mm? Yeeeeees, Munchie? What can I do for ya?" the lax tone came winding out, and the munchlax could only grin at hearing it again; music to his ears. The soft scents of cinnamon and caramel came rolling off of the bibarel, and Munchie's heart only further festered to it. Oh, did he love his friends, and oh, how grateful was he that Byrender was here with them. His goofy, buck-toothed grin back only warmed Munchie's heart further. He seriously liked these weirdos—a lot. He... felt blessed, to be on their side.

He spoke in his soft tone and tried to be quick about it. He noticed how well the yellow, that pichu, blended into his peripheral vision and how nobody even saw her patiently sitting in the space Munchie had been not a few moments ago. "Ashley's in the Waterfall Cave, and she's found a friend of hers from wherever she came from, and they're both in a bad state. I have to check up on her, we have to collect the time gears, we have to try and recover that... b-buddy of hers." Mate, flaunted the word. Munchie blinked irritably. "Then the frozen Mystery Dungeon can be restored... and we'll meet up with you all and we can bring all the time gears back home." Oh no, Byrender's eyes were glazing over. He wanted to tell someone; he always had to tell someone. This bibarel overly shared and shared when it wasn't his time. And right now, oh, was it not his time. He felt highly unsafe with that creepy dusknoir and his huge hands casually reaching for Jordan who hissed and bit one of the fingers, nearly tearing it right off. Yep, yep: very very very unsafe. Not a good thing. Very bad thing. Ugh. No—no, Munchie, focus on the matters on hand. If Byrender wasn't allowed to say anything, he might explode. "O-okay, Byrender, listen to me!" His whisper shout regained the huggable caramel's attention. "You can't tell _anyone_ about what I just told you—but if you're good... you can whisper it to Drynt and the pichu beside me, okay? But not altogether. One by one." Altogether might make him want to scream it. "And you have to keep it silent." Those black, beady orbs watched so carefully as Munchie made his statement, then bobbled in agreement.

"Got it, boss." A salute, silly grin, and the bibarel dulled slightly again, and nobody questioned it. The yellow behind him shared her own little smile with Munchie, and he sucked in a grateful breath and with a nod, tottered back up the ladder, glancing through the map room and recognizing spots on there with little marks that Drynt had mentioned to him: the time gears. He didn't have the time to sit around and navigate about them though so the dusky, angular head went up and out of the floppy tent's entrance and Munchie careened out from where he was, running halfway round the entrance to Spirit Bright, then taking off down the hill at a crazy speed making his eyes water and head tear back. His lone figure tore down until it wasn't down anymore but on hot, steamy, orange paths and eventually led through the violent electricity-filled rocks of Amp Plains, but only on the edges because that place scared him and even though it took longer, after more Mystery Dungeons to stumble past and more random greenies to nearly trip over, those weirdos, Munchie found his feet on cold, hard silver. And he could see the frozen Waterfall Cave coming up, but still, another small ring of loss came. Any... any color, any valor, any shadows, any sounds, and most everything else that produced true feel and emotion and life: was lost. Munchie winced, but he had to go on.

Up around that shell of a bubble to the side of the lost waterfall still the same gray—everything was that same, intermediate gray that held nothing but the drabness of it all—Munchie stumbled onward. His toes cried out from the agony and eyes began to remember how long it'd been since he'd actually, you know, slept and junk, but it was all he could do to keep going. Determination burned like the fire on Ashley's tail in his veins, and he had to keep on going, it was all he could do. All he could do.

And in the end, he came across one scattered time gear, then another, just lounging around there on the floor. Some tired, agonized footsteps, a violent curse that still sounded spicy, even in the place of no time, of no anything, and something stuttered into his view. A time gear to join its brethren. Triplets there, all the same, beautiful, glowing green, but all different too with their shifting colors of the multifarious sort. Pretty. "Oh, holy shit! Munchie! I... oh thank FUCK!" Something just as lukewarm and gray as everything else bumbled into him and hugged at his chest wildly, locking arms as the frenzied motion calmed a little. "Damn... it's so fucking quiet here. I can't even feel the heat you usually generate, even though it's so nice and warm. Shit, I really liked that—damn fucking bitch place. Such... it's a smutheaded bitchface, that sounds... about fucking right. I'm not good with names." Ashley's eyes searched up for him, and it was painful to see the gray orbs. Wait—he'd seen them prior... with that vision and... weird stuff...

"A-Ashley... what's going on? I need... help... and answers... and... a lot of things..." He cringed at how monotonous his own, soft squeak had sounded. It wasn't even soft, and the husk had withered away. No sight of it, just the pauses, the single stutter, and whisper. The Mystery Dungeons so kindly let them keep how quiet or loud a voice went. Sometimes... whispers were needed. But a sinking doubt told the munchlax they might not be needed, and that might be pretty soon of a time coming up. "Please... h-help me..."

Ashley's face registered with the words, slowly, softly. "Awwwww... Munchie, ugh, I'm so fucking sorry. Such an ass, aren't I..." She gently shook her head. "Never mind. I told you I wanted to tell you, and dammit as fuck I will. You look... super extreme-ass confused, and it's all my fault, and I'm sorry, Munchie." A blink, and she started.

"Okay, so... try to hold off for your questions until the end, because I have a shit-load of crap to unload. So basically yeah, I know what these things are because... er... I come from a bad time, and this is... a lot like that bad time." Her eyes seemed to whisper to him, _please don't be scared away from me,_ which sent him mixed messages from what the heck was going on in that girl's head. "Influence and I... we came here through a portal my dumbass dad left open, and... we came here to... to try and fix things, make sure the time gears would be okay... because we didn't know when the hell it would be... but something was going to happen, the guild would be lost, and everything would run rampant. They... needed other members to help out, they needed others... and... bad shit would go off, okay. But we fucked up and I lost his hand and Influence lost his memory. I know psychics can help us get it back, it's nothing serious, just a small symptom, but it cost us some damn time. And that fucking idiot could only remember time gears are important so you know what the hell he did: he grabbed them all. And... bleh, nabbing them, whatever, set off this first wave when everything becomes frozen like this. Then pokemon lose hope in everything, they become fucking terrible except for the few who aren't, our lives are fucking screwed, and we all... become... immortal... in a way. Nothing to keep us alive, nothing to stop us from living. You... you know... it's terrible to be immortal. All those lives with nothing to do anymore, just milling around and... with all the fucking screwdness... they're all bitches and they're all...

"Munchie, I come from the future, and the future is not a happy place. I can't even describe it. We all curse because that's what we see as fucking lively—ImeanyeahIcursemorethaneveryoneelsebutthat'snotimportant. What's... important... is that... it's so terrible I can't even describe it to you, and I don't want you to see it because I'm terrified of what it might do to someone like you. Dammit, Munchie, I want you safe and happy right fucking here... and I want to save the present, so that the future can be restored."

All that Munchie got was they had to go find the time gears like right now and save the world. Not even Zundentun, but... the world. If Zundentun was harmed, the world would be effected, and everything... would be... terrible. Ashley saw it all and she saw it all terrible and herself terrible and they had to do something. He ran off into the gray halls, and with a snide remark, the chimchar hurdled on after him. She shouted at him to go slower, she knew where the other half of the time gears were, and so his pace slowed, his face should have blushed, and Ashley went in front of him. She walked idly, using both her hands and feet like she always did. She talked softly with him, wanting to engage him, to make sure he was... okay. And Munchie... well, yeah, he was fine, as long as nothing else became as screwed as his favorite Mystery Dungeon. That was the nice thing, though; apparently as long as they didn't go past the breaking point, as long as everything was put back into place, all the time gears recovered and safely stored, they would be... completely fine. Even the Waterfall Cave would find itself fully recovered. He didn't know what that would make of Ashley and Influence, but he supposed they'd just hang around in the present and stick with them or something.

He couldn't even keep track, but at some point in his life, a small clearing showed, greens flickering about it. In the chamber, far below wherever he'd been, only following Ashley and destiny and what his heart felt like happened to be right, there sat the time gear, and another, and a final one as well. She limply plucked one, shoved it at the pedestal sitting in the middle of the room he just noticed, and like it was insane the pedestal seemed to have a force where it shoved the little, green gear all the way to the other end of the room with a snide I-think-not attitude. Munchie ducked and his ear nearly came off. He'd... avoided it well enough. Nothing singed him as of yet. There was still hope in the angular mess protruding from the top of his head.

"Well... shit." She plucked another one, tossed it at the white marble pedestal, and Munchie further ducked, this one magically flounced out from the creepy magnetic field thing as it socked him right in his stomach. So much for crouching. He squeaked rather loudly and unmanly to such tone, and a singed burn mark bloomed out from where it'd hit, coincidentally in the middle of the pale circle on his chest. Where it would be with color. The time gear peeled off of his new tattoo and clattered to the floor. "OKAY, SMARTASS, THIS IS THE ONE." Munchie wanted to curl up in a little ball and hide but her toss was so fast and the time gear was snagged out of the air, crunched into that magical, marble, curly pedestal—oh, the pedestal—and it sat still. Suddenly the walls roared to life, teeming with droplets of water and great, churning faucets of waterfalls that reopened and bloomed to life again. It happened all in one moment, then took slower to fully recover the iridescent hues of blue, from the blackest dusk to the softest pastel. Foaming bubbles gave off popping noises, which tuned to their word as the spiraling, roiling notion went on. "See, hah, TOLD YA SO: BITCH~" She proudly kicked the pedestal and screeched in agony, her pale, large foot momentarily glowing green. Then the green left and Ashley's flaming orbs kicked in on Munchie. "Hey, uh, Munchie? I'm reaaaaally fucking weak, so I can't carry many time gears... Could you like, um... you know..."

Suddenly, like sparks, questions sizzled and flew in his mind. "Ashley... uh... I just remembered: what about that vision and Influence—and your dad?"

"Hmm." She smiled a little. "Pick up the gears and old lady Ashley will start story time. How's that for ya? I'd say it'll be fucking fine and damndy." He winced at that last part, but scooped up the pair as ordered and saw they did pack a little weight on each gear, but he could handle this. Munchie recalled the triplets upstairs... somewhere, and, nodding to himself, tried to force it all in his head, hang onto it. They picked up the pace trotting up and around, and looping and everything, and Munchie was sure to be careful with his layered, now-dusk arms and hang on tight. The deaf chimchar to his side thankfully couldn't hear if a time gear began to slip, and he tightened his hug to them in an attempt to keep them stabler. It was a halfway experience. But they eventually clambered to the top and grappled onto the others, which were deposited onto Munchie, and they went on.

"Should we go to our buddies or do this shit ourselves?"

"Definitely get the others—b-but Ashley I really need to—"

"Okay got it yes dammit sir." She paused for a moment, then went on. "Well... these topics are a little linked. Let me just breeze over them. My bitch dad, he can make portals in the future to show everyone that the past is way worse than where we are now, since you guys are like mortal and he hates colors because he's colorblind so whatever, and also he's deaf so it's like everything is amazing when he's in his time period, blah blah blah, everyone be happy. And... he's a dusknoir. He has no name like almost everyone. My mom, Darla, she's a chimchar too and she's crazy, thus here I am. And, well... see... my dad's fucking messed up and you know, he'll ra—"

Munchie gave her a look as he saw where the conversation was going.

"Oh, you know, blahblah, he'll do bad things to lots of girls by getting them into him or whatever so I'm one of his however many kids, but... uh, I'm the only one that's not a sableye. Most pokemon become messed up dark type fuckers and..." Munchie had no idea what this sableye thing was, hardly knew of dusknoir. "They're... dark pokemon, created from darkness and REALLY FUCKED UP. I'm special because my mom is and thus I still have problems, like... I fucking curse a lot more, I... have strange visions with really hurt my poor brain, and I'm deaf and there's other shit, but... I'm also a chimchar. And... my dad probably realized myself and Influence are in here, and he'll... want to do something about it. So he's probably here and he'll probably fuck up your present if we aren't careful."

Munchie wanted to cry himself to sleep. He was that tired and that upset with himself and his life. At... least... she hadn't said anything about a pichu..? Thus he was silent throughout the rest of their trip, eyes glazed and time gears trembling slightly in his arms. Ashley didn't say anything else, feeling bashful or... maybe... embarrassed about it...

When they stumbled back into the outskirts of Treasure Town, it seemed everyone was still gone except for the insane crowd of pokemon now bombarding the entrance of Spirit Bright and having no idea how to get in because that crazy tent kept flopping around its flaps and thus nobody managed to make it in. Spirit was a smart guy, must've... somehow used Mystery Dungeon magic to make that tent, or maybe it was stored in the huge head of his above the white and orange felt. Either way, smart. The only pokemon who happened to be out on the sliding-toward-evening day was a girl with a pastel pink scarf wrapped all about her neck, forearms, and the majority of her chest, her sunny yellow fur glistening with the sun caught on it. "A-ah! The yellow!"

She turned at her name. Er, nickname. What Munchie called her as, and she nodded and traipsed closer. "Ashley, this is my... friend." He'd gotten used to it. Pride welled up in his chest. So much pride. "And this is Ashley, the chimchar I'd told you about. Do you know how... we can help Influence—her... um... grovyle mate?" Ashley, surprisingly... was still quiet. She looked a little sad in her sparking orbs, no much of a flame inside. Munchie... didn't know what to say.

But to his front, smiling gently, nod curving her head in the bright, warm air, the pichu withdrew with one of her hands behind her back what looked to be a splatter of green fluid wrapped in bright pink leaves that had foreboding, purple splotches on them. "This will... help his memory?" A cheery nod. "S-sweet." She nodded again at that, smiling as well.

"What the HELL? Are you mute or do you just have a cold, or, like, what the hell? TALK!" And the yellow shook her head softly, like the waves in the ocean, at each of these things, but continued to smile anyways. "Damn." Then Ashley was silent again, and a little sad as well. He wanted to reach out and hug her or something, but the time gears didn't permit as such. Ashley quietly mumbled, "Munchie... I'll be back."

He trusted her, so he watched quietly as she took the poultice thingy from the yellow's outstretched paw and ran off with it in her maw to move as fast as those hands and feet allowed. Munchie gently placed his stack of time gears on the ground, their weight leaving his aching arms and resting on the sandy dirt below. Then he sat, too, one heap of dusky fur crunching over the earth. The yellow, smiling slightly, her large, black-tinged ears—like Spirit's with the orange—twitching as she sat with him, just as big of a bumpy sit as his. She didn't speak, and he didn't speak, but it was nice anyways. Munchie then drew out a finger and began to scrape over the dirt, making a little picture. The yellow joined him. His was full of spirals and dips that didn't come out all too well, but anyone who wasn't blind—sorry, blind pokemon—could tell they were clouds, big and puffy. She drew out a sun, somehow just as effulgent as the one hanging above them, all circular and emanating heat, her spiraling locking into it. Below, Munchie scraped in imaginary colors, and the yellow giggled softly as she helped scribble. He couldn't catch her tone as it was too short, too soft, too passing, but still, a giggle. He giggled too and felt like a nincompoop.

They were drawing a sunset, one they shared together. Munchie... enjoyed it that way. He did like the yellow, even if she wouldn't tell him her name, and she seemed like a nice little pichu. Maybe she'd actually, like, talk to him and stuff later. That'd... be pretty great. Still, the silence was pretty too, and scrapes chipped away at the time until the real sunset seemed about ready to streak over to that place he knew so well... Munchie felt nostalgia choking him up, but he shook himself and stopped staring at the sky, more to the scrabbled drawing her and the yellow had... just about completed. Her cute little finger poked out and poked a few holed, petaled some flowers, and looking back, smiled to herself. Her hands were encased with grit, and so were his. Curious on how it felt, he quickly—with a red face—took hers and grinned to himself. He wanted to apologize, but he liked the silence so much that he couldn't. They both had those passerby giggles and hung on. Munchie was just staring at those soft, gentle blue orbs that seemed to welcome him, and he sure hoped his darker ones with hopeful rims welcomed her, and they giggled a little more and with the sound of some hefty footsteps, released, turning to face the great wisp that sauntered up to them.

Munchie's heart leaped. Look who was right behind him: his friends. "Well, I'll be," grumbled that freaky Dusknoir with a once-cool eye _but he was also Ashley's terrifying daddy and no no let's not mess with him._ "Thank you for that lovely escape hatch. I'd rather not run through that crowd of entities." He then conspicuously winked at Jordan and everyone groaned, but the groaning was very well disguised by Byrender randomly falling over with a _THUK._ Of course, to everyone but Dusknoir, the fall was not random but served a very well purpose. As his great one eye looked over and caught on Munchie, Byrender quickly eyed the emerald green Drynt in which both of them tapped the others and began hurriedly whispering back and forth about what the freaking heck was going on. Poor Jordan was so invested she didn't notice the huge, white hand on her arm. Munchie was about ready to stop and sob, but that one eye, red as blood, not strawberries, _blood,_ kept stealing looks at him, degrading looks, depraved looks, he didn't like those looks, no he didn't. His head shook like a leaf in the middle of winter as he stared down the big, scary man who was Ashley dad and evil. "Are you... what have you done. You monster." What.

At the perfect time, Ashley stumbled up as the lights in the sky melded with the horizon and burst into color, she and her mate with their heavily sparkling orbs caught in the sunset. Influence coughed, mumbled a curse, and he and she saw the monster in front of them. No, not Munchie: the other one. Munchie shuddered as he recalled the black wisps that had been stuck in his poor fur from that weirdo. "Oh, fucking shit, it's Daddy-poo. Oh _DAMN._ "

"Crud," calmly stated the grovyle whose leaf-melded body held frigid in sight of it, of that horrid creation, the big, scary man, one of his hands still on Jordan's arm and she saw it but she'd already lost feeling in it or something and her face paled like it was cracking.

"THESE... MONSTERS..." And it was Dusknoir, his dark but jolly but freaky tone cascading down like a wave, slapping everyone senseless. As Munchie looked over—yep, Ashley and stupid Influence were both wet. The Waterfall Cave had been restored, as the only way to get in or out was through that waterfall... and... Yes, he whispered to himself, yes. "THEY HAVE TAKEN THE TIME GEARS AND DESTRUCTED... THEY HAVE TARNISHED THEM.." What. He was... acting freaky. "THEY HAVE HARMED US, MY FRIENDS."

Munchie felt pretty sure his friends were about to look at him and they were going to hate him. But instead, they all burst into laughter.

"You think _they're_ monsters? That they've harmed us? Whoa, bro, good luck living that down! I guess that makes us ugly monsters too—haha!" Mystic chimed. Her golden orbs twinkled and smirked.

"I dunno, man, Munchie told me what's up and I told Drynt and we told everyone; so I feel pretty sure we're not the bad guys, eh?" There went Byrender, running his smooth, sweet, rocking tone over everything.

"Pfft, idiot." Spirit had the best comment yet. "I know these children, weirdo. I'm not going to respect another word you say until you admit that you're gay." Poor Jordan's face was going green; they were sure hoping he went gay, weren't they. Sadly that was not the case, and as suddenly as he'd showed, Dusknoir's eye throbbed and his stomach ripped wide open, that jagged, yellow line splitting wide and a sort of tornado pursed, sucking air... light... grit... the yellow—they were all flying inside of it.

"YOU... CREATURES... WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO—I see that none of you believe me." He sighed as Munchie lost sight of the world as he knew it. "These creatures have collected nigh every time gear for me. Sure, by accident, but they want to restore the future. I'm afraid... that won't be happening. This place is a putrid horror hole, and the place I... I am from, as well as my daughter and Influence, it's perfect. We must not lose it." Ashley and Influence were sucked in as well, and calmly, Dusknoir's belly sewed right back up. "They will be exterminated by what my sons and daughters—the other ones, the ones much... different, than Ashley—have provided, and what I told them to do. They will not return to the present." Calmly, his other white hand scooping up the pile Munchie had left so perfectly stilled, Dusknoir nodded and, one hand pulling a female gallade, the other locked upon gem-like greens of gears, he spoke softly:

"The present cannot change the future. You will be trapped where you are. Good day~" And he was gone.

 **Me: ;w; I apologize for this incredibly long chapter, but everything fit together so welll...**

 **Ashley: What the hell man it's only... 15.5k... the fuck.**

 **Me: WHOOPS SORRY. It works though so I'll leave it.**

 **Ashley: mmmmmkay then.**

 **Munchie: Why don't we take out the part where we all get sucked in and possibly killed?  
**

 **Me: nope sorry**

 **Munchie: aw**

 **Me: Well... this marks just about the halfway mark of this story. Woo-hoo, thanks for reading! :3**


	6. Where we Should go on Vacation

**Me: Ow. I ache.**

 **Ashley: what the fuck is it now**

 **Me: Oh I dunno the last chapter was almost 16k and I had almost no time to write yesterday (for happy reasons though so eh) so I sabotaged a bit of today's for it. YAY NOW I WRITE MORE.**

 **Ashley: geez overworked much**

 **Me: no**

 **Ashley: you're killing yourself**

 **Me: no**

 **Ashley: SUICIIIIIIIIIDEEEE -rings a bell repeatedly-**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Six: Where we Should go on Vacation

Already he knew he wanted no part of it. It took a scatter of seconds like pebbles on marble stone for him to count up the small tally and denote: nope, not going here. Even if he had to. Even if he was stuck. Even if the only way to escape was to open his eyes and do something, because right here, right now, doing something wasn't very high on the list of smart ideas. Nope. Smart idea number one was curl up in a ball and cry until sleep. Smart idea next-in-command was to find some way to kill himself because maybe it'd magically send his soul back to the present—the past?—but then Munchie realized that his dear futuristic friend had already told it out clear that they were, like, immortal, in the future—the present—whatever, he was calling it the future. Ashley called it the future, and it was her home. Munchie could deal with it.

He sagged in his ball-like formation. He'd been resting, but now his mind ailed him like some enchanted curse floating around the place had possessed him. Hey, Influence said it was possible. He couldn't trust anything here: no, lie, he'd always trusted Ashley as terrible an idea as it was. He still saw that... she looked upset... and he wished she'd just go and be happier already. Munchie was racking his brains—probably the true reason why such blackened agony paralyzed him in this odd, curled up position and he didn't want to, couldn't think of moving—but nothing so wise had fallen out. Sure, happiness didn't randomly strike like lightning in those green plains up to the Pine Nut Volcano, but—ooooh... bad idea, bringing up notions from home. Munchie's eyes clenched as did his stomach and he thought he would meld into tears again. Somehow, not quite that happened, but he stayed on the ground, lying there, in a ball, wishing he wasn't so miserable. The others had yet to disturb him: Influence, the mildly irritating grovyle; Ashley, his dear chimchar buddy he felt even more excessively self-conscious when without. It was quite obvious to tell which one he preferred over the other. Besides, he'd only just met the grovyle who hadn't gone through all of these rolling rapids of emotions with him, and that stupid grovyle he hardly knew apparently already had claims to Ashley's heart.

Yeah, every soul could hold a multitude of others to be with them and love them. But... he didn't like Influence being there... Munchie's guilt clogged him—again—and he cringed, and he wished Ashley didn't seem so upset-looking with him, and he wanted to cry, but he... couldn't do it. Couldn't... accept... that leafy grovyle.

The first thing Munchie learned about the future was that even those who were born there weren't used to the hollow sounds and colorless looks. And, rather less, him, the poor, lost, miraculously thin munchlax from... the present. The past. The past and the future, both interlocked to a spiral of the present. For now, this was the present. When—no, if—he ever found a way back home again and hopefully with Ashley—he had no good comment on Influence so the grovyle wasn't mentioned—then... that would be the present. But it seemed the world contained a certain couple that always bashed and battered and... entwined. The past and the future. Forever... together. Forever one, but at the same time obsolete. Forever connected. Forever one present or the other. Wow, if Munchie ever fell in love he had to use that and compare he and the other one to being the past and the future. Also, since he, like, had been to both times, he'd be able to be all romantic and stuff. Score some style points and all that.

"Munchie, we should... probably wake up, now. The past—the present—it's got this... setup." He didn't know what kind of a setup that might be wired up, but the memory of Dusknoir captured in the past with his friends and then with that big, evil, white hand on top of Jordan's entire arm like he was going to... no, but he did: take her: it begged to differ. Everyone and everything he knew but Ashley and her stupid mate had to be trapped down there with that creepy wisp guy. He'd... sent them to the future. From worried, hushed whispers shared between the chimchar and the grovyle that seriously of course this expert eavesdropper heard, Dusknoir had locked them into the future... and they needed some sort of portal thing, a rip in this shredded world of sorts by that dusknoir himself, if they wanted a chance of going back home and... saving everything. Munchie wanted to hope that his friends would stop Dusknoir somehow, but he was Ashley's dad and he seemed terrifying and powerful and altogether a no-no square. Plus, they would go for saving Jordan over the time gears, even if the fate of all life as they knew it was at stake: whether or not the truth was sad. He found it kind of sweet. Standing on his feet, Munchie tried to just focus on the pallid chimchar in front of him. "Like... it's sort of parallel momentum. Like—dammit—the future and the past—the present—roam as one and they... connect. However long passes in the future, passes back there. And we're fucking screwed if we dillydally and waste shit loads of time because who the hell knows if anyone else can stop whatever the fuck is going on down there? We... shit: we have to stop it! This is a serious hellhole! We... Munchie, your time, that past, is so fucking beautiful, and no way in hell am I letting my shit land corrupt you."

The chimchar with no color stretched out one of her still-oddly-long hands and snagged his colorless arm, layered like the ocean, in fur. Munchie merely squeaked, because he didn't know what to say. Her... incredible... wanting to help him... startled him somewhere on the inside. He couldn't pinpoint a location, but oh, did the munchlax feel it. A burst of emotion exploded on his inside and he wanted to sob but they had to move onward or... what if Munchie came back from this place and, like, everyone had died already or something terrible like that? What about Jordan? What if Dusknoir did bad stuff to Jordan like he did to all those other girls—like what he did to Ashley's mom? That Darla lady? "A-ah..." A shake of the head. "I trust you... Ashley..." Still monotonous, unlike Ashley's tone with a hint of pep. He didn't speak like her, though. His language wasn't used to being plagued with curses, or anything like that: he had the soft whisper and the protective husk, and he had none of that in this crazy place, and that was that. Munchie's eyes locked with her own grays and then he dodged back and his heart lost itself in the looking of... the future. The world... what was going to happen to his world, and... relatively soon, with freaking Dusknoir the creep lurking about, his strawberry-colored eye probably staring intently at Jordan or something else that was evil and stupid. Because... he was stupid and evil... and everything.

What Munchie saw sent ricocheting shivers rippling down his spine where they layered throughout him and caught themselves, trapped, in his fur, in his heart: he could hardly breathe at the sight of what Ashley and Influence must have seen for all of their lives until that lucky break to the past, where life was colorful, and happier, and different, and... no matter how much her dad denied it: better. But these... what were those things, tying from tree to tree in little catching mitts of silvery death, waiting for something to meander in and... what would it do to them? What if he hit one of those delicate things? It... well, it looked like a snowflake, but Munchie felt pretty darn sure that wasn't a freaking snowflake. They were small and white and from what he'd seen... the landscape in this world... was dyed black. He... he was just... colorless, almost completely black. Influence, of course, was black. Munchie still called him a weirdo because he didn't really like him. And Ashley... Seeing that smudge of spunky orange so dark and colorless like... everyone else, as if she'd traded places with her nonexistent shadow—did she even know what a shadow was?—it broke him, it did. It snapped his heart through and through. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing that little, fiery girl... so dark and empty and hollow. But this... in a sense... was the real Ashley—no. Munchie... Munchie wouldn't allow it. Maybe she hadn't been in the past as long as she'd been in the future, but... Munchie refused to believe she belonged in this hole, not her. No... never her. Ever.

"Whoa, Munchie! Holy fuck!" That tone... It was Influence. He'd gone almost to complete monotone but for the spike of a curse. "Look at your surprised little face! Mm... I guess you'd be older than us, since you're from the past—haaaah, Ashley, we found us a grandpa!" Just like that all that Munchie was crumbled apart and he wanted to cry. He was sorry... just stop... Please don't... don't... do that to him... He-h-he really liked Ashley... and he really... didn't like Influence... the way that grovyle looked at him and looked at Ashley and acted so clueless... and how... He... Munchie... He felt this boiling pit in his heart; he didn't like how... how perfect that grass monster had come for Ashley. He... Munchie didn't like that. She... he felt like she could... have someone else... and she'd like them a lot more than Influence, but they still shared kisses and hugs and it sickened him. Munchie was this confused pit of agony but it sickened him. He didn't like Influence, and he really liked Ashley, but they really liked each other, a bit too much, and that was that. He... he couldn't really do something about it. Who was he kidding? Munchie wasn't a murderer. Munchie didn't like to think of ending a life. He wasn't all too good at battling, either. He hardly knew if he could even remember his moves: honestly, the pokemon in Treasure Town, even the guild, hardly used them. Well, the guild did for exploration junk, but just in those scary moments everyone was about to die—

With sudden ferocity, a bright something _fwoooooshed_ into the hollow darkness, cutting it straight open. Nothing happened. This place was a brittle, vast wasteland with nothing. Munchie began to hear odd, drawling cries, but Ashley cut them off again with a quick, snide: "Stop your bitching; Munchie is Munchie, dammit!" It registered quickly: Ashley had stood up for him. She'd... argued for him and her hand, tight around his wrist, flung angrily into the air, waving about with authority. So... she might have been a little correct when she said she wasn't nice. Her teeth gritted, though the whites couldn't shine here.

"Ooookay then," casually grumbled the grovyle back. He whipped the long leaf from his head back in shape. Munchie quietly realized he probably didn't know what leaves or other plant matters were. "Well anyways, I may as well actually explain this little pit of shit." And... the monotonous Influence turned. His arms outstretched to try and accompany the world they were about to embark in. "This is the future, the future of a place with no name, it's so dreary and forgotten." A snort. His eyes rolled. "Thaaaaaank fuck we're going to repair it. So... try to keep on the path at all times and you'll probably live." Munchie was liking this guy less and less the more he talked in that dull, listless tone. Sure, he had to, sure, Munchie did too, but the words that fell out were sharpened and their edges cut deep wounds. Munchie... didn't... like... him... "Avoid anything exceptionally black and you should be okay. We use the sky to help and find our way, since the debris up there has become a map for us like those... things... you weirdos in the past have." Normal maps. With leaves and green markings and smiley faces by Mystic scattered in one room, tacked altogether and beautifully perfect in its own wonderful way. Oh, how he highly disliked Influence. "As well, avoid the spinark webs because they can reduce you to much trapped pain and agony and there's no way in hell we could save you then." Ashley grumbled a few things, Influence grumbled back, and Munchie didn't do much but blink awkwardly and stare gratefully at the hand fastened to his wrist. "Well, if we did, we'd be losing time. A waste of time. Aaanyways, we should prolly just head off, now." Head off where? "We should flock off onto the path and try to talk to our families, visit them... and then we should escape." Munchie didn't voice the fact that he had no family. Well... he did: thus Munchie came into existence. But once they saw the metabolism error he was dropped off and he was found to be a disease. And thus he was.

Having nothing better to do and the darkness practically clouding in, coating them with disease and filth and black, Munchie and his dear friend Ashley and new stupid buddy Influence took this trail the grovyle's long, slender hand had stuck out like a freaky twig and pointed to for everyone to take note of and see and use. It happened to be a slightly lighter gray than the blacks swirling among it. This, he noted, was a prettier-looking world, when taken from a glance, than the horrors established upon the Waterfall Cave as it was all one gray and this happened to be black, mixed in with a heftily dark gray line of a trail and others of the sort that varied in color... a little bit. Just a slight mix-up here and there he didn't find that important. Ignoring the fact that those dark, heartless colors would suck out his lukewarm warmth and its cackling winds were practically all one could hear: no, he preferred having his favorite ever Mystery Dungeon being turned into a poor, frozen castle of lost grays. The sandy throne would be left without, and he would rather it that than this futuristic horror: though leaving the throne without... it'd make the past go down the same trail as the future. And that trail splayed out before him.

Strange, animistic cries surged: hollow, icy, vain. Garbled until no sense could be made of, sticking out oddly as the branches in bushes, pointing every which way, crying out, pleading, needing, losing: unable to fulfill, out came the harrowing, screeching horrors of vocal cords. Munchie did not want to stick around and find out what kind of creep did that sort of sound. "C-can we just go already?" he mumbled. Tried to mumble. As soft as his voice should have been, it came out as a string of numb, monotonous nothing. Even his stutter at the beginning sounded pretty drab, empty. But it wasn't empty, emotions that should have been scraped up his throat with his whisper had been left behind; thus leaving the colors of the world that should have been in the future lodged in his throat. It didn't escape. There was no escape. He found this easier to understand now, and felt as if the blues of his sadness would never go unclogged.

Then he worried; Munchie hardly noticed as the just-as-colorless chimchar gently tugged at his arm and her stupid mate led the way, himself tottering but following unevenly. Munchie worried because the last time something like this happened, he'd snapped and lost it and couldn't stop sobbing—did they sob like that in the future?—and yelling at Ashley, and the longer he stuck with her, the less and less he wanted to yell, but the more and more he knew it would build up and they would butt heads again. He didn't want to; he had to. And he hated it with a smoldering passion that lit up like a nuclear wave: brighter than Ashley's fiery orbs he missed so dearly much: he hoped that wasn't creepy. Well, he did miss her eyes, and he couldn't do anything about it. Thinking of his dear chimchar friend's orbs, Munchie calmly accepted the fact that he had no idea what Influence's orbs were; no, no wait, they were gold. Munchie wished he hadn't been able to recall, but it appeared life had another saying in the matter. Stupid life. Stupid life, birthing Ashley in this dark future. Stupid life, making her stuck with someone like Influence she thought she deserved but he felt she didn't. Stupid life, making him want to cry out in vain at its name and almost spit just as much as the chimchar beside him. Stupid life. _Stupid life._

Yet he felt relatively secure in the notion that perchance Ashley wanted similar for him. She... didn't want him to be at her home. Her hand only seemed to tighten around his wrist until it swiveled and outright took his hand, and she kept glancing back at him worriedly. Even in this forsaken future land, he could see the pain in there. Ashley was fretting about him... and she truly didn't want him anywhere near this place. Yet... here he was, and she seemed to curse life just a much as him though he did it without those words she grew so attached to. Ashley's hand squeezed his sometimes; he squeezed back. He couldn't help but notice how... depressed she looked there. As a talented eavesdropper—he'd stopped feeling bad about it some time ago, which might have seemed sad but whatever, he was done—Munchie could practically feel the pain leaping off of her heart and succumbing to the darkness outside, to those creepy spinark webs rustling with their strange, silvery studs that mocked him as they went on.

Influence continued to be just in front of them, his long, limp leaf fluttering from his head nearly whipping Munchie, but not quite coming close. The thin munchlax had never seen such a thing, this leaf, this gray: leaf. Leaves weren't gray, even on the brink of—and at—death. In some cooler areas, they could be a flame of colors, reds and yellows and oranges and the occasional brown, autumnal and similar to Ashley, pretty, and in the coolest they were thin icicles of blue, but never gray. Never that same dankness that couldn't be restored unless this point in the past connected to this point of the future—the present now—was recovered before Dusknoir did bad things to both Jordan and the gem-like gears and they were both screwed, to put it charitably. His face crawled with the need to flush, but it never did. He was still just as drab and dark as the others: but then again, as Munchie thought of it, he realized he and Ashley were sharing color schemes, and for some dumb reason that made him smile.

Ashley let off a sparky giggle beside him. "Why the hell are you smiling? We're about to meet my ass family that sure I love but you don't even know them and dammit I never wanted you to have to meet them: what the hell is there to smile about? Sheesh, fuck it! Spill, boy, spill!" And he couldn't help but giggle back in that rough, painfully monotonous shrill. It was bad but it was a giggle, and that had to mean something when the future kept breathing down one's neck. Sure, Munchie despised this place with a new passion and wished he could take Ashley away from it, but still...

"We're sharing color schemes."

"Fuck?"

"We're both the same shade of this color. I've never been the exact same color as you. It's... a little nice."

"Dude, you're sharing the fucking scheme with everyone." Glancing back, her voice lowered and she added, " _incluuuuding_ Influence."

"Yeah, but I'm sharing it with you, and that's all that I care."

"Stop being so fucking sweet! We're all gonna die here!" But even still, it was obvious Ashley had a light joke riddled in there, so Munchie giggled softly again—regrettably sounding like a dying orphan—and they went on. Because Influence questioned nothing for some reason, he felt all the safer in this side of the universe turned worse with his chimchar buddy and not a soul else. Munchie found himself much rather comforted with her by his side instead of any other pokemon that it could be. Yes, he did love his other friends and found an awkward feeling crudely labeled pride which choked in his gut about exactly that, how he felt over them, but still... even neglecting the fact that she was the entire reason he'd become to where he is now in the first place: she was Ashley. Nobody else was Ashley. Therefore, nobody else was just like her; therefore, there was nobody else who could make him smile like he did with her. And he felt happy with her, this ease he didn't quite find through another. Sure, they had the occasional fiery and a little scary spat, but those were... not as often and so far between he'd forget about them by the sheer liking he found in that chimchar with the bob of hair and the knot in the back of longer tendrils he just sort of hadaweirdurgetoreachoutandstroke. Not that he did. He didn't touch them. But still. They looked nice, even when dull and dark and thick and colorless. Munchie should stop thinking about hair or the next thing he knows he'll be pecked by Chindu for accidentally going too close to Spirit and making himself look like a gay and a fool, both of which he didn't want to look like. Munchie felt... pretty sure... he liked girls. He couldn't be completely certain—look at Chindu—but at least at the moment, he felt pretty sure he liked girls.

Any girls in particular? He couldn't really answer that because there was nobody out there for him and it didn't concern him all that much, but—he suddenly began to feel a tugging notion on his mind, but answering his thoughtful girls' question was more important so Munchie ignored it and on he went. Right: it never concerned him that he had nobody, but just... saying he might actually have someone, they'd most likely be a female. He was just freaking saying. If... Munchie liked anyone... he couldn't see himself being gay like Chindu and Spirit. It didn't feel like something he'd naturally do; hey, if they were in love and they were happy, whatever, but Munchie had no plans of loving dudes, especially if the dude was anything like Influence. Oh how he highly disliked Influence. Munchie squeezed Ashley's hand and this time she squeezed back, and he felt this sudden, cool rush of thankfulness that he had her with him. Maybe... he wouldn't have even ended up in the future, had this smudge of colorless primate never run into him and found the guild herself, done everything herself until her father forced her back here and all she could do was escape again. But he'd rather be stuck in this cold, freaky dimension with her by his side than to be where he'd gone prior... being alone and relying on a sunset to keep him happy. A sunset... of all things. No... no friends, no anyone, no... nothing, until then, until her, and here he was with Ashley.

Oh how he liked Ashley. Ironic, since one would assume the love of her life would be a someone Munchie had to like as well, since this girl that meant special things to him liked him, but Munchie simply couldn't stand Influence. He couldn't, he just couldn't. That was... that was it. As much as he adored this fiery—should be fiery—primate, the bipedal to the front with leaves and plant matter melding him as one was someone he despised. His snide remarks, his casual rudeness: at least Ashley tried. He just... completely accepted this world, like her dad did, and rued it but also didn't mind it at the same time. Ashley, she wanted change, but he doubted Influence cared. Maybe he was only doing this in the first place to make her happy. Munchie couldn't really tell with that guy, which scared him a little but mostly just... that stupid guy irritated him. He wanted to take Ashley and keep her far away from him but he couldn't and they were in love and it wasn't going to happen.

The tugging on his head ensued, but Munchie shook himself and seemed to find comfort on the colorless hairs on his head again. Oddly, like the grains of sand in the frozen Waterfall Cave, they didn't feel like separate bits, alive and moving, as they should have, but all a simple decoration stuck together. Like the entire world was a stage and nothing was apart, everything stuck as one, and the only thing to be moved were the feet against the ground as they went on. More agonizing yowls pierced the empty air of no feeling and Munchie's ears shriveled in his head. He didn't reach out to cover them because... he actually wanted, _wanted_ , to feel Ashley's hand on his. He wasn't trying to avoid the attention this time around, and he smiled to himself about that as well. Those voices, though... wh-what were they? "Ashley..?" he hesitantly asked. Had to know, as worried as he was. All eavesdroppers were curious about the world, hence eavesdropping, hence he had to know what those sounds just outside of his field of sight could be the source of. What happened to those poor fellows? Is there... anything that...

Ashley's eyes caught his; she must have read his features, not his lips, because she didn't see him ask, now that he thought of it. But the chimchar saw his eyes glazed over, his head turned back, his lips poised as if the question lay directly on there. "Munchie... you don't want to know." Her own blank eyes glistened as his looked back and found hers, and he could feel it roiling off of her again, her sorrow in this world he had to see of hers. "They want to end their lives, but they can't. The furthest they succeed happens in eons of pain... and when they end, they're shells of... nothing. They're wisps of monsters that follow Dad blindly, and I fucking hate this place and I just wish you _didn't have to see it!_ " Her pain over him—over _him—_ continued to blindly strike him and send tears in his eyes, but would they ever manage to come out? Could he cry in this wretched place?

Munchie stared back out. Even though he didn't like him, Influence knew the way, and he led them on confidently. Being able to hear Ashley's blunt remarks kept him watching over his mate and the boy she wanted to keep safe and uncorrupted in this corrupted land he seemed enough to enjoy, and thus, they found their way fine. Munchie still felt the tugging, and mentally smirked at himself for how similar it had been to the yellow he'd seen in his vision when he saw that pichu: the yellow, as he called her, as she wouldn't cough up a name quite yet. Not yet. Funny, how similar this had come to the yellow. Was she, perchance... with them? Munchie didn't quite think so, but her and his elbows had just about been overlapping when Dusknoir first showed, and he knew she could easily disappear, so he wasn't sure whether she had or not and did end up there with him, with Ashley, with Influence. Would Ashley have been... so protective over her, as well? He didn't know. Munchie knew either way he wouldn't mind: he didn't need special treatment. Just seeing this side of her personality warmed him.

At some point, one of Munchie's angular ears had bubbled up too high on his head and suddenly the tips of his toes were all that held him on the ground; he'd nigh become suspended in the air, and his breath hitched and eyes widened and Munchie wanted to flail his arms but Ashley's stare iced him more than anything else could. He missed the flaming colors that he should have seen flickering, but it was just gray, a gray that mixed with everything else on her entire body and would portrait nothing. No colors lashed out, just the gray. And though he liked sharing this with her, he much-rather preferred the natural beauty she should have been exalted in. He wanted to let her know how pretty he found her, but still that ring of shyness descended upon him; then Munchie shook himself to recall that his ear was magically floating and he wanted to freak out but the eyes still iced him. Ashley placed her fingers to her lips— _be quiet—_ and slowly, gently, reassuringly, searched with her fingers through his fur until the bones of his legs could be felt, pinched by her hands, and she scrambled upon them. Climbing up his body like a ladder in Spirit Bright. Ashley carefully maneuvered in her upward climbing, only hitting bones and flesh and using it to lightly, softly scale, until suddenly her face was level with his, and she raised a long hand and pointed a finger up, and then Munchie saw the spectacle just above them.

The webs. One of them had, of course, caught the very tip of his ear. And thus Munchie had been stuck to the sky and no matter how much flouncing and pushing and flailing he did, he could not escape, only risk going further stuck. Ashley again, her hands clinging tightly and secure to his shoulder—a feeling he liked—placed her fingers to her mouth to let him understand that no matter what happened, please stay quiet, and she slightly loosened up her maw and out flew a... a spark. It had no color, no feel, no nothing, but her fiery self—and slightly calloused fingers, he now noticed—gently lifted a hand to catch it, and she held her small arm up high, and she scrabbled directly on top of Munchie's head—whose ear still wouldn't move even with this chimchar scampering all about him—and dropped it on that very same ear. Munchie didn't feel the burn, but apparently the web did, and his angular, scruffy protrusion slid out with nothing so much as a _pop_. A slide, a yank, a fall on his bum, and he still refused to speak. Ashley landed rather delicately beside him, hands out and feet stable, then snagged one of Munchie's hands and ran off after her already-dispersed mate, Munchie hurdling close behind.

"We're going to visit our families," she hissed to him, "for what may as well be the last fucking time. We'll be okay, we all will, but dammit, since we're in the area, I need to see my mom. And my step-mom." She had a mom and a step-mom. "Yeah, after Dad turned out to be a you-know-what, Mom went lesbian and found out she liked girls a damn lot more than she liked guys. I think you'll like Victini, though." Her step-mom was a legend. "Well... now that everything's gone to hell, it really doesn't matter who you are. Thus Victini and Darla are like really fucking close. And since I'm a girl, we're a relatively fucking close family. I think they won't mind you, since you're you and hey if Ashley loves any friends then her mom fucking better since we work like that." She loved him like a friend. That feeling of joy sprung up in there... Yeah, he loved everyone in the guild and they loved him but this was the first time... Ashley had specifically said something. The tugging on his head worsened for some reason. "You'll also be able to meet Rock, who's Influence's mom, who's terrible at names but fucking amazing Darla made her choose one. Victini's never had a name and she insists she'll never want one. Just because... I don't fucking know. She feels special when she'd in a house full of pokemon with no names and no matter how much we diddly-damn insist we get nothing from her. Stupid-ass legends."

Quietly, gently, her steaming words flying past—dull words without the sting her mate so desired to continue pecking with—Ashley's hand steered Munchie's, thus leading to his entire self, continuous on the white-glowing trail of a softer black that seemed to welcome him into this hateful world and apologize that it was so terrible. He smiled to himself at that. An apologizing walkway leading him onward. He wondered if Ashley and Influence thought much of it, but they'd probably been through it a lot of their lives and didn't notice much any more. As her long fingers tugged him and those colorless orbs kept looking back at him, watching over him, being kinder to him than anyone else ever had, Munchie decided that no matter what happened, he wanted to stay near Ashley on the road of life. He lucked out to have her be the first true friend he ever made, he really lucked out, and he wanted—practically needed—to hang onto her. Letting go was something that could not happen for him whatsoever. He simply couldn't. Munchie didn't want to consider her leaving his side, and it seemed like the chimchar didn't want to go either. But still... there was that sadness, like a film, over the edges, haunting her, bleeding into her that Munchie could feel inside of him, that out of anything else in the world, she hadn't wanted it to come to this. To let him see this part of her life.

And still... he didn't mind. At first, yeah, he wanted to pee himself and curl up in a ball and die there, but now that he's gone through some of it and gotten slightly used to the screeches—Ashley felt him flinch every time, but that wasn't very important—he just saw what Ashley used to see all the time, and also identified that she couldn't hear anything. The others, her family, had to explain it to her, what it must feel like to have to hear that forevermore, and Ashley, they must have called, lucky, because of her differences. She was deaf, so she couldn't hear the screams; she had visions somehow, so she could see occasional colors and show others, and hear as well through them; she was still a chimchar, even though her dad was Dusknoir and the world was crumbling apart; she had spirit. And she... she had spirit. She wasn't gay, but oh, did she have spirit inside of her. A bright, flickering spirit it seemed Ashley didn't even notice inside of her. Well, Munchie did. If he ever worked up the courage, he needed to remember these things he's thought of her and let her know how amazing she was. Because... she was. She was like this star in a black night sky, the flaming one Munchie couldn't keep his eyes off of, and it warmed him in his heart, too. The darkness in her home was frightening, but it... it leveled off with her.

Thoughts of the wigglytuff and his guild stuck in Munchie's mind, so when he looked over and actually began recognizing where this trail was headed, that's right, he wanted to pee himself again. Ashley could feel the burst of panic and excitement and the sliver of fear trickling through him, possibly jolting back at her, and she smirked slightly. "Yeah, I recognized it too, the first time. What a fucking coincidence my family—uh, since I'm Influence's mate his family is technically mine, too, all that shit—lives in Spirit's... old... guild. Their home. And still my home—and yours, holy shit." Their home, his mind echoed softly, trying to cling to her words. Their home. "Just... we stay on the map room floor. The one below is fucking terrifying, and the scary part is I... I recognize things I saw in there." Things? "M-Munchie, you don't want to know. Terrible things. Things... of things that should be happy, that we both know. It was surprising when I saw the bottom floor... and there wasn't those things on the walls but the actual beings with their things connected to them, and I recognized this and realized that they were their... things. But I didn't see any of yours. Because... you were destined for some other fate in this fucked version of the world. When you came to our fucked future and... whatever the hell happened back there, I haven't seen anything like what could have happened to you, and frankly... I don't want to. I like seeing you happy and alive better."

Munchie wondered if his corpse sat in the future somewhere, in this screwed version of reality... Or... in this world... did he stay—with Ashley—when... no, wait... that made no sense. If the past had fallen to rubble, the question was where his corpse would have been. Munchie thought for a moment: would he have made it to the guild with Ashley and thus his corpse would be littered in that guild, or would they find it stuck somewhere in a Mystery Dungeon, like he never made it out—protecting a time gear? If... if it was none of those, and he was still that lonely munchlax with nobody... then his future self would be here... somewhere... lost in the pain of nothing, with no one, maybe a shell of himself. Munchie felt like he would have made it to the guild with Ashley still... maybe... or was it connected? He... maybe he would have made it? Munchie thought long and hard on that topic as it gnawed at him, as Ashley continued calmly leading him up the trail, this new one on the apologetic path of the future from the behind of Treasure Town, this one of white, easily going straight up the hill and landing them where a bedraggled heap of felt sat atop. Dried... red... stuck to it, and rubbed off of it, and stayed there, broken, stained, cheap, ugly, dead. It was red. It was a color. Ashley must have... s-seen it... He knew what the dried red was. He didn't know anything of the whereabouts of his corpse, but he recognized the dried red. He wished he didn't. Ashley squeezed his hand, he squeezed back, and they slowly made their way down the rickety old ladder. It, if nothing else, continued standing.

There they found themselves on a mat. The mat happened to be made of old leaves built up to be what... what the map walls were, but now in tumbling tatters on the floor, a mat. No grass below, might as well use a mat. He saw too many creations and compounds of creatures sitting around, these groups of plant-matter made quadruples stumbling about the place, enough to make the gang of time gears and one more. Munchie was an eavesdropper, but he recalled nothing on the names of these child twerps. They were all, like, twins, like the time gears, and they were treekos, he saw. Green like the time gears, but one more than them. An overworked creature with wide, baggy eyes and a tall but sagging stance watched them tiredly, with a happy but sleepy smile. She must have been alive for a time. Even without the coloring, Munchie recognized her, and she had to be Influence's mom as well. Rock had been her name, because she was bad at names or something and that was what it became. Rock the sceptile, right. Those pokemon were supposed to be of stealth and work, but this one... seemed more of a softhearted caregiver. He... liked it.

"SHIT! IT'S MY FUCKING MOMMA AND STEPPIE!"

"GAWSH YOU BUM I DON'T LIKE NAMES!"

"HOLY FUCK IT'S MY DAUGHTER WHAT THE DAMN." Ashley... and her mom and step-mom, it seemed, had reunited there and then, their fiery appearances with no color bounding them together. Munchie stood with his back to the ladder like an idiot as he watched the pair of families embrace their kid or the kid's mate, looking uncomfortably close to one another, like they'd been through a lot and didn't want to talk about it like at all. His fur itched from his position, and he stared a lot, but it seemed from here, with the dark on the walls and the no color and the shadows, he could hide. Everyone could be all cheery or whatever, but he could cling to the wall, feel terrible, and hide. He... felt terrible... because suddenly he didn't want to introduce himself to anyone. They were all... happy to be together, and with Influence tacked into the scene, Munchie wanted nothing from it. He was shy and a little upset and wishing for a family he didn't have when a sudden, soft-furred foot maybe smacked into his skull and he slid to the side and fell through the other hole, through the other ladder, with a _bonk!_ his head had been whacked.

Munchie slowly raised himself, staring up the dark hole with the ladder and deliberating to go up it again in a bit. Something... something had caught his eye, and he wanted to get a closer look at this room. It surely appeared to be that bottom part of the guild, only with excessively blackened grasses that had died out and spaces of dirt, simple dirt, he knew the crew wouldn't let happen if they could have. But what caught him first was the walls. They appeared fuzzy. Like something... like hair... was on it. And he looked further and saw things holding up the—the hair, on the walls, like goop: it had to be more... more dried red. Very dried red, by the look of the place. Then it dawned on him, and Munchie realized he couldn't see the turquoise but he knew what that was. Bits of scalp sat below the long, should-be turquoise stands of hair, and other parts forcibly ripped off of the girl had been scattered, most glued to the ceiling and walls by her own dried red. Munchie felt tears in his eyes, cold, wet ones that trembled as they fell, and his heart shook as it beat and it wanted to escape, and so did he. But he couldn't tear himself away. He felt under a mesmerizing spell to see this, to see her, again, even though it wasn't her, and his feet moved on their own to walk toward the hair on the other side of the wall when something went _sqquuuuwuurrrrccchhh_ beneath a hesitant toe.

The dirt wasn't dirt. It had a black shading like it, like it should have been brown, but it wasn't dirt. Munchie could see the buck tooth sticking out from the ground and his stomach clenched and churned and his heart lost itself again and he wanted to go home. He couldn't even whisper the name and the tears kept choking him but they wouldn't come out and fogged up his vision. His head turned up to try and clear them and he could see gem-like studs glued up there in gloppy messes. And he recognized those gem-like eyes that were gray but he knew, and those fingers... and the toes... and the long sheaths of skin that slightly resembled an emerald at one point in time. Munchie's head slowly turned, and he saw something caught in the holy door that had once contained Spirit's and Chindu's room.

Guess what it was, his brain whispered softly, guess, guess, guess. Those cloudy orbs stared back at him through the head, the head lying there, still with flesh on it and ears and everything but splattered in goop that he didn't want to see but he did and Munchie began to sink knowing he was going to see the others soon and that they were dying... they were losing... they were... they... When he felt the fluffy paw on his shoulder, he knew Mystic was covered in mold, and her corpse against the wall had brushed against him. Munchie softly cried to himself, though nothing would come out, and it sat inside of him, horridly stopped up. A voice came, too, a voice he didn't recognize. It was monotonous like anyone's but it paused, too, and sounded like it would have been soft, like Munchie's, had it the chance. "Greetings.." His head snapped aside.

It was her. She... she had come with them. The yellow. "G-greetings..." he stammered back. Munchie wanted to weep, not talk. He wanted to crumble, not... this. He had seen these pokemon of his and where were they—where? They had... they had died. And they may not have died yet but this was what would happen to them if the future stayed screwed and the time gears... weren't stopped. Which thus meant... the guild of Spirit Bright would fall, as would everything else, because it... it seemed to have something wrong with it, per se. Everyone had died. Dusknoir had won in the past—which caused the screwed future. He had won and stopped them from being able to do anything. He... stopped... them. But—but—they were okay now. Munchie still didn't want to do anything.

The girl, though, she apparently did. Her paw came out and took Munchie's hand and she slowly drew out her head and placed it closer to his layered fingers, softly kissing the back of it. Oh. She had manners. That for some reason caught his attention as she gently dropped it and nodded to him. Munchie stood to his full height and attempted to nod back to her but his head was sore and his furs ached and his tooth, yes, his tooth, burst in agony at him. Probably because of what he'd seen. "My name is Jalendalynne," she told him softly. Softly, even though they couldn't hear, he felt it would have been soft. "Juh... lend... all... lynne..." She pronounced it for him, too, since it was proper and long.

"A-ah..." he just stammered like an idiot back, "I'm... uh... I'm Munchie."

She nodded. "I didn't know your name... until now... actually." With a spark of actual smartness, the idiot munchlax recalled that this was the girl who had helped him earlier, and followed him around a lot. The yellow, he'd called her, because he knew of nothing else. Currently, the tall pichu smiled at him, her shyness obvious by how her paws absently fiddled with the thick scarf strung about her neck. "I am from... a kindly family... in a forest of fogs." She was... like Mystic. She came from the Dungeons. "When I... saw you. And you... looked... very lonely. And I... wanted to follow you. Heh..." Because of his loneliness he'd attracted this cute girl. Wow. If only all the guys knew that. "Munchie... I happened to notice... your friends... and how they were in... bad positions. And I knew... how to fix it. So I... waited in the clogged town... for you... so that I could help... you... and..." Her head ducked. He was sure if they could blush, their cheeks would be matching. "And so... I did. I didn't... know any other pokemon... but relatives... until I met you." Just like... how he felt toward Ashley. But no relatives, they all hated him.

Jalendalynne raised her should-be sunny head. Not even her stripes of black had been spared by the screwed future. "Like you... I don't... see any sign of... where I could have died." Both of them, huh. He nodded slowly, offering her to go on. "I know this... is a little random... but I wanted to ask... U-um..." As her head shivered beneath her shoulders and she struggled with her question, Munchie's guilt nigh attempted to swallow him until he recalled Ashley and it burned to determination. Whatever this odd, mannerly girl wanted to ask, he'd like to help her. "C-could we... be...

"...f-friends..?"

She wanted to be friends with him. She... she wanted... to be friends with him. Munchie had never in his entire, despicable life, gotten a request from anyone that wanted to, like, actually... befriend him. Kindly ask him. To hang out with him like that. Ashley and the guild—they all came kind of random and in weird circumstances that called for it. What Jalendalynne did, didn't have to be done, and yet here she was. "O-of course." Yeah, he liked that. Opening up, taking her time, those orbs that should have been cloudy with slight hints of other colors unscrewed their tight lock and seemed to widen at the response of yes. She seemed kind of similar like him, in a way. That was... cool... like, really cool. Way cool. So cool... he didn't even expect it, but it happened. Her face lit up with one little smile and Jalendalynne reached out as if to hug him, but thought differently, shaking her head. "You don't... like being touched." She even knew that. Dear arceus, this girl was cool. She had a stable basis on him, and Munchie would figure out how she was, but right now in the least she seemed like one of those entities to be pretty mellow, cool with anything.

Either way this girl was seriously cool. "I'm... sorry about startling you." That was her, both times, even. He... saw it made sense, but hadn't really thought about it until them. "U-um... this room... kind of... creeps me out... C-can we go back... upstairs..?"

He obliged. Munchie felt a sudden relief as he turned the room where his friends had been turned to scraps behind and, securing his hand with the pichu's, making it safer as they went, they climbed up that rickety ladder and were confronted by no looks whatsoever. The others were just finishing up nodding on and off with family, and whence they were done being all sappy, Ashley caught sight of Munchie, who stood awkwardly next to Jalendalynne, and nodded a little, but then her sadness seemed to plunge through again and with a mumble, she spat at the wall, waved her fiery family and leafy family goodbye, and took off up the other ladder. Influence mumbled a few things and went up after her. Then Munchie, again assisting the cute, dainty girl. Ashley hadn't looked, like... jealous... or something... had she? How did he know? He didn't know what jealousy was—he didn't know what jealousy was! What the heck? Why even question it? What did he even think he knew, because apparently he didn't know it. Munchie felt righteous in that way as he continued to assist the perhaps weaker but freaking cute with-her-willowy-build friend of his, and their heads popped up and Munchie tried to look at that barren, blown-over tent as little as possible. Though she'd only seen it perhaps once, Jalendalynne looked away as well, her bent pichu ears flapping with each sway. He liked how she moved, and how each one specifically looked different. Even the ways she would shake or nod her head provoked change. She moved like the lively world that should have been around her, but wasn't, because he and she were in the future. Jalendalynne was better off in the past, too, with nature framing her.

Ashley and Influence moved on ahead, walking together, seemingly indifferent in a few specific ways, and Jalendalynne and Munchie bounded behind, seeming to have way more fun than whatever was with that stony silence up ahead. Maybe the chimchar and that stupid grovyle liked having their time together be spent without words. The more the poor, thin, scruffy boy thought of it, the more guilt he felt and the more truth he found, since Ashley of course was deaf and it might be easier on her to not always have to talk. She must have hated him for all the time they'd engage in what he'd hoped to be lively conversation. Did Ashley... happen to be... upset with him? Ugh, it felt like something died inside of Munchie from the thought and the pains. He was getting all nervous about that girl again. And though he enjoyed speaking softly with the pichu to his side and liked all of her insightful comments, he stared out at the gloom surrounding him and felt as if it might swallow him up. Again with the fear, again with the worry, again with the wanting to sob and run away and curl up and die. Jalendalynne was a small enjoyable creature, but Ashley seemed more suited to whipping Munchie into shape when it came to details of the sorts like fear and not feeling good and having no motivation. She inspired him, set a fire in his soul, and that warmed him and kept him going. Munchie couldn't understand truly, but he saw a difference.

Anyways, since he was still alone but for the pichu who accompanied him, his heart rate continued to spike and he stared out into the dark wilderness with spiny trees and the cries of whispering, woozy pain through the silence of a world that desired life. Noise. Color. Feel. Taste. Smell, yes, even smell, even when you walk in somewhere and the stench was rancid: they desired that as well. Anything for life, for true living, true needs that Ashley, unlike her dad, found herself craving for: because she had a spirit in her that wanted to keep going, not peter out. She wanted hopes and dreams, not crumbling failures. And they went on through the forest of blackened trees that may have once produced fog and Munchie recognized to one side, far out, a mansion—to put the thing charitably, as its size blew him away—built into the landscape of trees. Must have never seen it with all of the fogs in this place prior. But that had to be around the area and the how Jalendalynne met him in the first place and began shadowing. But now she had proven to be a true pokemon, and he and she felt relaxed; well, no, Munchie did not feel relaxed, he felt as if he was in pain and it was tearing him apart. He wanted to be with Ashley, even though he couldn't, as she stood there with her freaking mate he so terribly despised.

Well, it turned out Munchie could eavesdrop well and Jalendalynne could read others well, and those pichu orbs caught up with him and she nodded her head slightly, thinking. Then, "Hey... would you feel safer... my friend... if... I could bring you... and that girl... closer..?" They already were pretty tight as friends, actually, Jalendalynne, but then he recalled how far up and with stupid, stupid Influence the grovyle she had been, and yeah, Munchie wanted to be with her, and yeah, her presence comforted him, and yeah, he was starting to sound a mite incredibly pathetic in his head. But, well, Munchie did wish he could stay by Ashley's side and hang... hang onto her hand, nobody else's, just hers. He wanted to see her eyes light up, even if they couldn't that well in this cursed, colorless world where she of all people didn't belong to, and if there was any way he could have switched their lives and been the one in the future, hers allowing to be from the past, he would do it like right then. Even if it meant he'd be gay with Influence. He didn't want anything to do with Influence unless it improved Ashley's state of happiness. But he would, if that was what he had to do. He sure as heck hoped that wasn't, though. Munchie suddenly surprised himself by realizing that he wasn't hungry even though they'd been in the future for however long and his last meal were those hasty coconuts: Ashley's, he couldn't tell. Maybe the last time they all had had apples in the mess hall together. How he missed his friends... but he'd take temporary separation over Jordan's hair being stuck to the walls by her own innards. No let's not think back to that.

That tugging Munchie hadn't felt for some time returned as the pichu dispersed from his view and must have looked back or something. He could always tell when that girl had her eyes on him, creepy as it felt or sounded. And he did find it slightly weird, but he also didn't mind. This disease-like munchlax the color of nothing for now liked the weird. The weird made up his list of friends. A jab in the back of his skull reminded him to move onward faster, so Munchie did go, and he nearly collapsed into a certain smudge of a chimchar's back as he went on and his head whipped back, angular ears awkwardly fluttering, and he saw something he didn't like. Wisps, they were, countless stacks of them, running and swarming and a few on the ground had sticks of sharpened wood which meant one of those must have severed him good in his head. Jalendalynne, unlike the what looked to be paling Ashley and her taller, slimmer mate, had bright orbs and her head nodded profusely. Then with a flick of her wrist, she turned herself and nabbed Influence's accidentally offered hand, pouring them to one side as Munchie recognized that the trail had split off, and Ashley grumbled a few words about _Inf_ and she and Munchie stumbled off to the other side of the tree thicket, her hands and feet reluctantly crunching over the whitened ground for some time—Munchie thought he heard crunching, used to it after his entire life, but he actually didn't—before she even noticed that someone had followed her. Before that time, the munchlax simply relaxed in seeing that body, the same color as his, move on, and recognizing how she always ran with her hands and feet on the ground because of those bent and shorter legs, and how much faster she could go with them. He simply liked seeing her. That was all there was to it. Then with a snap, Ashley's face turned back as if searching for someone and no one could have disguised for her the bright stare that accompanied it.

"Munchie! What... what the fuck! How long have you been here! It's fucking nice to see you, damn straight!" R-really? "Oh, holy shit, I dunno what the hell is wrong with me but I've missed you, alright! I crazy fucking missed you!" R-r-really? "Wow! That's so..." She glanced around then, furtively, blinking to herself, and pushed her body against his in a sadly lukewarm hug because they couldn't feel the warmth from one another, but hey, he could feel her, and that was nice. He... Munchie actually _liked_ hugging Ashley now. He found this burst of warmth in his heart, at least, at this discovery he found so kindly and so amazing to him. This... sudden joy he found in hugging her burst in his face, a bloom of red that of course nobody could see but he could surely feel it, and Ashley couldn't feel it but maybe she felt that same bloom of red—wait no she didn't. No, she was Ashley. Plus, she had other pokemon who probably made her happier than he did, so why should he act so... happy about it..? Why did she have to get so bright..? She... She didn't deserve this place! She acted so sad because of him being here but he deserved to be in her place, if anything... she couldn't possibly deserve to be here... She didn't deserve to be stuck with him...

They walked anyways. It was what they had to do to go on and save everyone. Ashley had this casual stroll to her step and her hand was on Munchie's hand but he couldn't believe it and tried to swallow down emotions that failed to make it out because they were trapped. Munchie needed a way to let out his emotions in places where he was trapped... He... he would screech and run with his limbs flinging wildly when scared and smile and try to hug and fail when happy, and when he was upset, he needed to cry, but he couldn't cry, and he was stuck and he just felt emotions, cool, hard, boiling emotions inside of him, mixing together in the wrong parts and setting him off, startling his heart. Ashley didn't deserve this but she acted so casual, so happy—it upset him to see her swanky style, so used to this hole that she shouldn't be in. He didn't like it when she felt at home in these places, because she didn't deserve that scum. But she acted like she was scum when she wasn't and it tore his heart right open.

Pretty soon, as one would think, his movements began to lag, another ocean emptying into him. Sand stiffened in his arms and he sloshed about in this pain as it trampled him further. Munchie's emotions would swallow him whole, and when he couldn't escape, there was nothing else to do but fall apart and release and why did Ashley have to... to... Munchie didn't know. His head ached and he wanted to smile for some reason but he didn't know why, didn't think he had a reason, and oh, did his head ache. A throbbing joint seemed messed up with it, jolting and jolting over and over inside of him, driving him wildly mentally, but on the outside, he continued to slow, until he had nearly stopped, his pace so uneven, so painfully stilted with his head hung and feet slapping the earth, appearing as if something had weakened inside of him. Pathetic munchlax, he recalled quietly. The pathetic, skinny munchlax that shouldn't have existed because all munchlaxes were large and round with their potbellies that he didn't freaking have.

"Munchie..." She turned. He knew she would. She always did. "What the hell? What the fuck! What are you doing!" To the point, a little brisk, a little blurred, hotly smudging with him. "Come on!" Her louder tone stirred up in him and set him aflame as his eyes took in the smudge of a chimchar, and guilt fell through, and other emotions he didn't want to keep in flushed out and he randomly sunk to the ground, heart stuck and mind reeling, nothing fitting together. "The _shit!_ " she cried at him, but he couldn't move. Her yelling reacted somewhere in him, his eyes glazed over the ground. The yelling, the bogged-down emotions. Something was wrong with him, just like last time.

Unfortunately, Munchie didn't recall a last time. He just felt a thunderstorm over an ocean, and the waters were crackling and so was he. It was something about that chimchar... her loud tone, how jubilant she acted when she shouldn't be so... so... "A-Ashley..!" A snap. "Ashley!" He'd snapped again. The surging emotions pooled through and fear gave way to anger, to suffering, to thick, hot, rancid distress, and his eyes lit upon the colorless girl, just as colorless as him. Munchie sat, unable to move, but his heart began to race again, and he could feel the turmoil rushing through him and it ached somewhere, and it hit something. Fingers clenching the ground, he cried, "You just curse and act so happy and get along with everyone!" He didn't ask about himself. He didn't matter. He was a messenger to the hurricane as it collided inside of him. "You don't... you don't belong here!"

She didn't belong in this dump. Ashley quietly understood, but a moment later all quietness had been evacuated. "Hell like that! I do! This is my fucking home, Munchie!"

He stared at the ground through clumps of his hands gripping at it, trying to hang onto something, to... to... Something ached and he winced softly, but it didn't come out like a wince. Flames spouted from his lips with his words. "But you don't! These souls are nothing like you! But you get so upset when I'm here: when I belong here! You belong in the past with the brightness and light! I... no! NO! Stop... stop acting like I'm so great!" He'd hit it, and he felt it jar him. There we go, he thought blindly. There they went.

"Dammit, you are." He shook his head. "You are! You're way too fucking kind to everyone!" Shook it again. "I'm the damn scum! I'm the shit that picks the fights! I'm the yeller, the screamer, the bitch who keeps bitching and I deserve the other scum around here!"

"You don't deserve scum like Influence. You're better than them. All of them." He'd gone softer, quieter, then shouted, "I want to take your place!"

He could hear her footprints thumping closer. Hard, hard, stomp, stomp, stomping. Closer to him. "You're the sweetest, most innocent pokemon I've ever met—and YOU WANT TO TAKE MY FUCKING PLACE? THIS IS THE SHIT; I WANT TO PROTECT YOU FROM THIS SHIT!"

"What if I..." Munchie sucked in a breath and used a word in a sentence he'd never used before. "What if I've been the sh-sh-shit this entire time?"

And she was silent. She didn't say a word, didn't move a muscle. Ashley had lost herself in a world off on her own where nobody else could come to. And she was... so quiet, about it. Like she'd turned off. She didn't speak, merely stood there. She... he couldn't even tell what might have been going on in the chimchar's mind. His instincts failed where they were used best, and Ashley was all but completely silent. He could scarcely hear her breath funnel through her, hardly could tell if a foot flaked to the side just a turn, and she didn't do anything. Then came the whisper: "Munchie, you're the greatest soul I've ever met." A pause; a gulp in her throat. She wasn't... crying—? "Let me protect you from these bitches. You mean so damn much to me and I don't like it when they're around you. I told Influence to fuck off, and he will. And maybe we don't understand love like you guys in the past do, because I don't see it. I don't, and I can't. But I know I want to protect you from this mess of my life. I am scum, whether you like it or not. I'm from this hellhole. Maybe you're from the past, but even pokemon there are bitches, and I don't want you to be stuck there."

"A-Ashley..." he squeaked, and she stopped abruptly. "I just... want you happy. You... you look so sad when I'm here with you... and it makes me feel like everyone else must be so much better—they have to... have to be. They have to make you happy."

"But they're not. I get so fucking excited when you're around, Munchie. But... I don't like it when you say I'm better than you. I'll fight it off because I'm not and there's no way I could be. I have enough evidence to supply all of your comebacks." For the time being, Munchie silenced himself and didn't object to it. He enjoyed listening to the chimchar and he wanted to hear her out. It began to dawn on him how little he actually thought he knew of her... and how much more he could relate. How... how little a self-esteem they both shared. And... how ashamed she was of her life, and how much she desperately wanted to change the present, so that the future could be rewritten and they didn't have to be so messed up. Ashley didn't see her spirit, and apparently, Munchie didn't either. The difference was that she preferred to hide it and stuff it with her hate for the future, for where she came from. "I'm happy when you're around me."

A pause. Then, "Ashley, I didn't realize we had so much in common."

A glitzy smile bedazzled her lips. "Everyone has something in common, if you know where to look. But some pokemon have more in common than others." A wink. And then she paused. And he ended it.

"I'm sorry for getting upset with you... M-my emotions always get so tangled up and then it's out and... ugh..."

"Don't try to be so happy all the time. It's fucking stressful. Plus, I still like you. A hell of a lot more than you'd think."

He chuckled quietly. "Same here."

Then another voice broke in. "You guys gonna have babies now or what?" Who was that. His face burst into what should have been red but wasn't as something cold dove straight for Munchie. He could feel it, the icy slide down his bones and muscles: no, he should have, but a swerve cut off and Munchie lost his footing, sliding into the dirt as something above him went _ssshhhhuulkk_ and something else lopped off and made a squishing noise as it hit the dirt. Still colorless, but Munchie could see what looked like a stream running out of the thing that lopped off and squished. He knew it wasn't a stream of water, though, and then Munchie looked away. Ashley's battle cry fell short as she slammed into him and Munchie took her figure in his arms, apologized profusely for letting this happen to her, and rumbled off with the chimchar carefully bundled up to him. He could feel something leaking, sticky, wet, and it stuck to his hand where her ear met; wait... Munchie squinted closer to Ashley's wet, sticky side of her head and decided: what ear? There was no ear on one side of her face. Staring bleakly at that, stomach queasily rippling, he stroked some of her hairs so that they covered the spot. Yeah, she was deaf, and it didn't matter, but now his stomach hurt.

All he could do was lumber on with his heart slapping against him like it hated him, and Munchie sure as heck felt like something was in there. Something was behind all that anger and remorse and guilt. And the thing was, he felt as if it'd been buried deep down, but... the covering was nearly completely blown off, and the munchlax was that much closer to finding it, feeling it, figuring out what had gone wrong inside of him and where things stopped connecting. He could feel it.

Voices sounded from behind. The sheer number of them that had been following prior, still following, now closer, so shady, so dark: they must have been the sableye. "Shit, they're nearing the portal! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" They were also not the brightest. Soon enough the entire horde of darkness was screaming that same f-word over and over again until it rumbled around in Munchie's mind and he couldn't shake it out. Ashley mumbled something about how much she hated her half-brothers and sisters. He awkwardly nodded to that and continued loping his step and could see light. A great, swooning light, shredding through the sky and parts of the earth, humungous, lurking closer, calling out to him and the chimchar he held so tightly in his arms. Color began brilliantly shining its way down, and Munchie slowly realized just how much of the red, the not dried red, had dribbled over his dusky blue fur. Yes, slices of color returned, and his cry rumbled in his throat and that was soft with the husk— _the husk—_ and he wanted to cry from this great accomplishment. Geez, why did Dusknoir appoint his way-too-many children onto the job of watching the portal if they were so bad at it? Oh, because he was a good dad. Right. Ashley was better.

As Munchie waddled up past cracks and flung himself over the light-induced bits streaming upon him, a green face lurched up to him. "Where the hell have you been?" came that scratchy tone Munchie was waiting for. "We've been waiting, dumbass! Come on!" Without looking back, Influence shoved his long, dark leaf over his shoulder and limply leaped into the great light. Beside him had been the sunny yellow pichu with her black stripes, who smiled sweetly at Munchie and popped through as well. A flurry of thoughts cascaded upon him as he stared at the chimchar of fiery colors in his arms. He saw a few things in that moment, just looking at the... red-splattered sight of her and knowing those orbs that she had neatly closed while she slumbered, unconscious. He felt happy to have met such a pokemon like Ashley, and that he had a lot of strange feelings building up in him because of her. He wanted to be by her side a lot, and she did too, and he was starting to understand that now. And they... they were kind of similar. Okay—more than kind of similar. They both had struggled with their families as well and he just wanted to hug her at times. And... be with her and hang out with her.

Munchie gained a string of realization as he stared at the chimchar in his arms.

All of those jokes he'd made awkwardly, and he didn't even realize...

 _I didn't realize we had so much in common.  
But some pokemon have more in common than others.  
Plus, I still like you. A hell of a lot more than you'd think.  
Same here._

...Munchie...

Munchie was...

 **Me: yaaaaayyy wonder what that could mean**

 **Munchie: o/o**

 **Ashley: -has mouth taped shut because she's not allowed to react-**

 **Jordan: -bursts out of nowhere- PLEASE HELP ME**

 **Dusknoir: HWAAAHH HWAHWAHAHAAHHAHHHHHHHH**

 **Jordan: GWAAHH**

 **Munchie: AAAAHHH**

 **Ashley: -fiercely claws at the tape on her mouth-**


	7. I Don't Think I was Misunderstood

**Ashley: guess whaaaaaat**

 **Me: what**

 **Ashley: WE'RE GOING BACK TO THE PAST!**

 **Munchie: ...wait. I'm confused.**

 **Me: Yeah what.**

 **Munchie: Are we going to the present or the past?**

 **Ashley: Both.**

 **Influence: Neither. -goes back through the portal-**

 **Ashley: -grabs the long leaf on his head and yanks him back- FUCK YOU**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Seven: I Don't Think I was Misunderstood

He... he couldn't exactly form it into words, but the munchlax surely felt something when he caught the look of the chimchar just as he stood on the edge of humanity, about to dip into the world of the past, of his home, again. He had not a clue how much time had passed since he entered the future, but possibly not too long, since it seemed the chimchar in his arms hadn't noticeably grown agitated for that reason: well, she had. When he completely stopped walking whatsoever. But nothing for a slower pace. Perchance time had hardly sped up at all and Munchie was complicating things again when he didn't have to, but in his heart—besides the things hanging around that couldn't be formed into words—he felt that his friends would be in splotches of momentary safety. Hey, Ashley's big scary dad was about to ruin the past: you couldn't really get all that better than momentary safety, in this sort of situation. It was just how the world worked.

Like how the world worked with a great mixture of Mystery Dungeons, then the one little tip of uncontaminated Treasure Town that Munchie had begun to often see more and more as the only bit of contamination left in Zundentun: though according to the great almighty Influence—oh how heavily he digressed—Treasure Town would forever remain the way it was. It simply wouldn't be possible for the magic of Mystery Dungeons to take over all; there had to be spaces of legit nature, too, to keep a—though painfully unbalanced—share of each side of how everything could live and grow. Munchie didn't want to believe that grovyle only because the speaker of such doubts had been Influence himself, but Munchie was in no room to argue. So he didn't.

The world, he recalled, also worked on another form than Dusknoir equaling momentary safety or the strange balance of sorts in Zundentun to warps and nature. Sure, both were a sort of magic, but one stuck out: thus Mystery Dungeons. The other didn't act so bold and uncalibrated: thus nature. The world worked on those cogs, the time gears, and those time gears, without being properly watched and cleaned and looked over and worked at and all of those great, cleansing methods tending to be used upon the grace of such exalting matters, would die. Simple and there. Did the time gears begin to run out of whack, lose their power, their shine, did lackluster break out like monsters from that one psychotic child's imagination upon their gentle, cool, green surfaces, or one time gear wrecked and its replacement not properly formed: the world was over, fine and dandy, simple. Time would stop, so therefore space would move awkwardly as well, and the world would freeze and every single sense of observation would fade until its use could no longer be identified and the souls of pokemon twisted into cruel, immortal beings that could never escape the lives they only wished to outrun. That... was how the world officially worked. Screw up the time gears, everything died. Simple fix: no screwing up the time gears.

Only one single problem could dominate that marginally simple task, and his name was Dusknoir. He was problem. He was big problem. His problem was so massive it inflated further than his oversized ego, as Ashley might have called it. At the thought and mention of her name colliding inside of him, Munchie shook himself. He definitely saw a cause and effect of wooziness and strange reactivity with that flaming-colored girl nearby. Explosions... in emotion? In his heart? Munchie continued questioning these sorts of unimportant, trivial problems of the world that stopping and thinking wouldn't solve while the wispy entrails of sableye children spilled out amongst him and hissed softly, angrily, a sort of trill rubbing off on them.

Munchie then remembered what the heck he was doing in the first place and stepped into the hole of light. None of the wispy, purple monsters managed to skewer him, nor follow him, any further than they had already gone. Those strange half-siblings of Ashley's showed limitations in going toward the portals. Another strong reason for them to be the guards, he remarked to himself. They couldn't just take off. Perhaps Dusknoir wasn't the most thoughtful father, after all. Munchie began to wonder why he had so many kids in the first place—how many different woman were there in the future?—as the all-seeing bright, white lights encompassed him and strong, fluid winds burled over him and rumbled against. The sudden urge to take Ashley's hands and squeeze them to himself came over the munchlax, and before he knew it the once-again dusk-colored creature of layers of fur had his arms locked behind the unconscious chimchar whose face with the hole in the side of the head casually dripped for reasons he didn't want to elaborate, and the arms connected with the hands. A cool breath of relief washed upon Munchie, and he felt that much more sure of himself with just the simple gesture of their fingers entwined, connecting them together. He began to hope that wherever they were, Influence and Jalendalynne weren't injured and okay—wait no not Influence he didn't like Influence. Then, Munchie rectified himself, may Jalendalynne be unhurt and smiling, with her bright pink pichu cheeks of blush encompassing her small, round, sweet face.

With that thought safely secured, Munchie hugged the limp, orange smudge—actual orange—of his friend to his scruffy, blue chest, and Munchie saw the accidental tattoo swarmed off the center of the pale, sandy circle on that chest of his. Just barely off. He looked like everything had been shifted just a little too much, like mere moments could have saved its position. The funny story was, no, it couldn't, because it had socked him right in the chest as it whizzed by, that time gear from the wrong slot trying to be put on the Waterfall Cave pedestal. He had a burn mark on his chest, and it looked like an intricate tattoo mere scoots across from being perfectly aligned with the pale sandy circle on the middle of the dusky fur. Maybe Ashley liked it. Munchie didn't know why he was suddenly so interested in the deaf girl and why it mattered whether or not she liked his accidental tattoo that would probably come off—in given time, if at all—and it didn't matter. Just singed fur.

But there he went. Munchie cared. Maybe it was with the whole part where he held each hand of Ashley's with his, to keep them carefully entwined and warm his scruffy old soul. Maybe it was one of the new, dangerous, strange things they'd done in those last times, like the time gear singeing his heart to flame, just about, and other strange but normal anomalies like... like an oshawott—these water mammals that were mostly white with the colors of different oceans on them—had multiple different lengths of their long, thicker, rope-like hairs. And those were their ears. He'd heard that most had small, prim, proper lengths of ears but that others pertained to much longer ropes of them. Munchie in particular had never seen it, but some of the most outrageous things were told of simple anomalies like that when one eavesdropped for the vast majority of their entire life. But even still, whether or not it resulted from either of those finds: there he went. Munchie cared. Maybe because Ashley would look at him and think he was ugly.

Wait no she wouldn't. Munchie tried to shake off these random, awkward feelings of succumbing, directing to the weak self-esteem that should have made a barrier to his heart, but didn't, because he didn't have any, so thus no barrier. For the sake of the chimchar he still awkwardly held in his arms with her hands on his hands, try to be more positive, stupid. If he didn't... oh, he didn't know. Maybe... it'd... What did Influence do when he was sent to the past that messed up his mind and shocked him into amnesia? Ashley said they weren't holding onto one another and he had been whisked away or something, so he'd landed both somewhere wrong—the Waterfall Cave—and somewhere potentially hazardous—there was a time gear there. And nowhere near the chimchar who'd started it all. Well, whatever it was, Munchie didn't plan on releasing the girl from his grip anytime soon.

He's almost forgotten about the winds until those picks up with melodramatic _swwwoooooooooossshhh... ssssswwweeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrssssssshhh_ sounds that cried out and demanded for notice. That was what they got; Munchie's fur billowed around violently as if suggesting to rip right off his being and scatter: now that, that was worse than a misguided time gear in the wrong pedestal, forcing itself to be flung far away and evidently smacked into the living being nearby. But seriously, if it had only been like a little bit more to his right, its left, and a little bit more up, both of their ups, he would have had a perfectly imprinted time gear on the brightly-contrasting circle on his chest. Munchie should stop worrying about things he didn't have the ability to change. Singed fur was singed fur, and that was all it would ever be. Though it did look a little like a tattoo, it'd—at some point—grow out.

And then the winds picked up again and rustled him harder. Munchie practically squeezed whatever life was in Ashley back out again from the nervous breakdown in his heart. White lights began radically flashing, blinding the thin munchlax who thus rabidly sealed his eyes tight shut so that even if a soul came knocking, they wouldn't budge. Those layers of fur saved his eyesight, as the dusky layers prevented nigh all of the strange, vibrant brightness from effecting him directly. Only a slight, lighter sheen covered, and still the big color he saw through his eyelids was a blue: a not-as-dark blue, but a blue all the same. He'd be safe. The smudge of orange he pawed to himself would probably be okay since her body had shut down some time ago. Oh geez, he hoped she was okay. He couldn't cover her eyes since he was too busy squeezing her hands with his hands and feeling unsafe for many logical reasons, so he awkwardly hid her head into his chest furs. The singed ones were partially shielding this special girl. Of course they were some of the saviors.

Munchie wished he could stop focusing on how warm and nice it felt to have her that close to him and continue worrying nonstop about his safety, her safety, Jalendalynne's safety—anything but Influence's safety—and any other factor he had no control of. Anything but—truly nothing else than—this girl who was against him and it was like a hug or an embrace and yeah it was warm but no don't think of it that way don't you even, stupid Munchie. Stop. His brain wouldn't stop though and a random, tacky smile branded to his lips and no matter how hard he struggled, Munchie couldn't stop it from erupting within him, and the warmness of the occasion exploded on his inside like a lovey volcano. And just like that, things began to fall, and one of them hit him. And he saw it.

Oh.  
 _Oh._

That one word. Lovey. Lovey volcano. Did that mean... he felt... _that way_... about Ashley? And, like, he had feelings for her? And, like, he couldn't do anything because she insisted Influence was all she deserved when man, that guy was the scum, and Ashley stop calling him for you if you think Munchie's so great, because you know what, he thinks you're so great, and he can't get you out of his head like at all, and: nah.

He probably was just overreacting. No way did he feel that way about anyone.

The emotions inside of him burbled angrily and began to hiss at that tone. What tone? That was no tone. Munchie simply stated the truth, and the truth has no tone but its own. He was shedding light to the situation, but suddenly his heart bit something inside of him and he squealed at the shock of bright-red color over his eyelids and the gnawing sensation inside of him that Munchie, you've done messed up. He didn't... do anything, though. He was just trying to be an honest-to-goodness munchlax that, sure, didn't have the strongest self-esteem and all that, but he was trying to find truth in a situation that was dark and filled with an inky, sucking void that he wanted to save from the future-likeness of the moment. But still, something gnawed and his vision painted red and oh, was he doing something wrong. Which was hilarious because he had done nothing wrong—or was it hysterical? Was Munchie breaking out? Would he run down the line of capsized emotions again? Oh, geez, no, he hoped not. He didn't want to start freaking out about Ashley all over again. Munchie sucked in a tight, pinching breath, and decided: whatever he felt was wrong.

Something angrily thudded in his heart, but all Munchie could do was ignore it. His brain began to squeeze, but Munchie ignored it. Voices in his head screeched that he was wrong, but he ignored it. Innards began to plead, his fur itched, the eyelids started fluttering in their place like a threat, a threat he helplessly needed to keep off but couldn't even control as his hands flopped about randomly and almost dropped Ashley which that—that—that he really didn't want to do—and then suddenly his toes wriggled and felt about ready to come off. Oh, geez, he was going insane. Or something. And still... Munchie gallantly put up this facade that he didn't care and he held it down, held it tightly down, his fists clenched and feet, though shaky, in place. In place enough. Of course he forgot that with his fists clenched his fingers would bite into Ashley's, so he quickly unfurled that act and deliberated that he needed another one.

And with a final squeeze, the lights gave out, and suspending Munchie in place, they violently flashed out one last time with lashing, chemical white hands and released, sending he and she sprawling into the sands below, himself nearly dumped into the waves of gloomy low-tide just under. Seeing that, he rapidly flung himself forward and landed, signaling a hefty _thUMP_ as sands puffed out and escaped underneath him, which got him smiling again. Perhaps the sands of the beaches and oceans could tell the difference between a regular munchlax and skinny munchlax, but he couldn't help but feel they sympathized with him and let him have bigger clouds just to feel better about himself. Shaking off in pride, picking out specks of granular pale he could recognize from all of those sunsets he'd spend at the beach, Munchie picked himself over to where the orange smudge had fallen, moving over dunes and sometimes kicking them down for no reason, no order. His head turned to the right, angular ears swishing, and those dark blue orbs caught sight of something he hadn't seen in a long while, something the hope rimming those blacker colors caught and held to. It... it was real, alright. A real sunset, all over again.

As if reciting for a play he knew by heart, Munchie's mind began to chant as the colors took place. Blue, the portrait, the eggshell melting pot, held up strands of orange which bleached its canvas a lighter of sorts and began churning with yellows that fell into place and vibrant greens which fell in splotches, going so far as to surround the sun with bleached limes of green that appeared so pale they nigh were sunbeams themselves. The green mixed with the orange, the yellow, and the hints of old blue with streaked across the sky in lashing waves of color, streaming behind leftover strays thus reporting as purple, a grape purple blooming like flowers in pinpoints of blue streams. From the edges of this earthen and seaward land, dusk fell like a hush, and the colors began to die out of shape as the sun sunk toward the ocean, releasing a final, majestic spray of color: purple to pink, to those bleaches lime greens to streaks of yellows, their undying glow demanding the sight of their single audience, as he had once been. And the dusk fell softer, closer, gently embracing with the color like old lovers and sounding the end. It must be hard, soft realization waded in on Munchie: to only embrace like that with such... love... only when the sun rose, or the night did. Or the sun set, or the night. Those intervals met so only a couple of times spread throughout the day, every day, could they truly meet and spread their wings of color and shade and light out. It was a sad thing.

But at least they didn't have it like the land and the sky, a pair of celestial beings unable to truly entwine, to only see one another and wish, wish with breaking souls that they could collide once more. The only way they could meet was if the world ended and everything was destructed of its core, releasing any hopelessness and pain holding the sky from its land, keeping itself once as a protective bubble until released, and when that happened, the world would stop existing, and lovers would be brought together, but at the expense of loss. The future, Munchie saw, was like that. Darkness, grief, pain... but it all melded together. One couldn't find a true sky or a true land. It... mixed upon itself and melded where it wished to and altogether wrung out souls that deserved to be together and couldn't. At least the night and day had those chances of sunrise and sunset—moonset and moonrise—to meet again. The earth and the sky had nothing, nothing but the hope that one day this throne of life could fall, and they could meet again.

Munchie's brain slyly remarked that no matter what these celestial suckers had to go through, he'd always be with Ashley. He slyly returned that the sky and the earth would have one another did they not make a move on or they'd be screwing the world. He didn't know where his friends were, but Munchie felt pallid certainty did they get the choice, they'd choose Jordan over saving the world. The guild was cool like that, but also a mega-jerk to everyone else like that. Everyone would group hug and the world would die at the seams of their fingers, where they had the chance to sew it together. Either way, Munchie wasn't sure if Dusknoir would even give the guild a chance to have Jordan or the time gears. He seemed... kind of really attached to the female gallade. From that thought, Munchie's heart struggled to swallow and evidently sat there like a forlorn stone. They... they had to do something. Had to stop this anarchy from coming down and he didn't know how to, but then he remembered: right, Ashley would know. She was... she was from the future. She'd learned from so many old tales from so many forgotten, old souls in their screwed future of the past, of what happened, of how to save it. And here she was now, doing exactly that. And Munchie: he would help her in any way he could.

"Hey! Munchie! Please help me! I'm fucking stuck!" And there she was. Awake, he realized with a sudden strike of joy. And alive. And she hadn't even noticed that one of her ears had gone missing. The dusky, scruffy munchlax with newfangled joy pumping in his veins reached out and took a hand of the chimchar, her long fingers wiggling dramatically in her struggle. She was on her back and judging by the pale stains under her face and the bags of lines, Ashley was tired, and she'd need some help traveling. Once he'd gotten her up, Munchie ran back to the streams of the ocean and dipped his fingers in, rushing back and sloshing his cold, wet, fluffy hands over the side of her face, attempting to clean the cut as quickly and efficiently as possible while keeping Ashley without worry. "What the—FUCK! THAT STINGS! DAMN WHY DOES THAT SING! FUCKING ARCEUS! SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT! STOP! THE HELL!" She rapidly spat as the words went splat and soon balls of saliva had rolled up on the ground just about everywhere, sticking and swirling with sands and clear liquids. Munchie suddenly remembered the phrase rubbing salt in a wound. He had saltwater on his hands. He was cleaning out a hole punctured in Ashley's face that should have contained an ear. Problems spiked. Obvious problems he should have seen coming. Munchie winced, mumbled over a few apologies, and quickly finished getting the dried red off of her cute, round face.

"Is it any better?" he mumbled, cleaning off his hands in the ocean waver and wringing them out, then looking at the peeved chimchar in question. She blinked slowly. Those pretty, fiery orbs seemed to wink at Munchie, and it made him feel special—oh freaking gosh what was wrong with him. Munchie felt like he had sinned and wanted to cry out all over again. And, he noticed, he had regained the ability to cry, so if he needed to, he should feel free to let it out.

In response to his question, Ashley had at first paused, then, cautiously, ran her long fingers across the edges of where her left ear was supposed to be. She mouthed a few words as her eyes slowly widened, then shook her head. "Oh," was all that came out for a moment. It eventually, after a lengthy pause, was followed by a few more words. "Oh... oh, shit. I had no idea. I'm sorry, Munchie, I fucking hate it when I have to get all loud at you and then your emotions jumble up somehow... and then we're both screeching. Ugh..." She shook her head. "I'm really fucking sorry."

Munchie merely blinked back. He took a moment to say something in return since he still couldn't believe Ashley had cooled so quickly and felt guilty—guilty, Munchie thought only he felt it like that—about her actions like he always did. Munchie still did. But he'd gotten better at it, being so thankful he had Ashley in the first place. And now... it seemed like it was... in a way, her turn to voice her guilt, and they would eventually: yes, cried his internal organs, yes, he and she would meet in the middle and there would be those emotions trapped inside him—in motion, because: no, wait, nothing. He waved it off. He was lying to himself again. He'd tried to shed light but it seemed the light hadn't wanted to be shed. In the end, he just tried to shake off the emotions, which as usual, of course, didn't solve any of his problems. "Ashley... I swear, I didn't realize how much we had in common. I... I used to feel like that." Munchie didn't truly realize until then how much he'd missed the soft tone of his with the husk wrapped about it. "But it's... it's okay. I truly... I don't mind."

"I make you fucking angry. I don't like you like it when you're pissed."

"Maybe I don't, but I like you a lot more than how much I don't like getting peeved."

"Oh fucking do you now."

He blinked, snickered. "Yep." Ashley, though he thought she might have, didn't respond to that single giggle displaying righteous happiness and other emotions of the sort. _Yep._ And she said nothing in response, just stared at the gentle yellows of sand below beginning to dramatically shade over with the reign of night and the moon, not whispering a word. Her flaming orbs spluttered and stared with this peace and this slight, little sliver of sadness. Munchie didn't like to see her in such an usurped state, but he felt like if anything happened, he'd at least protect her. And that was a good enough emotion. Munchie began wondering again why every thought about this chimchar not only seemed heightened in number but in strength of feeling. Whenever he saw her eyes, he thought they were pretty, but now when he saw them they simply glimmered and appeared so bright, so warm, so spectacular, that he could hardly contain his explosion of warmth in him: every time. Every. Single. Time. Then remembered, "Um, Ashley..? What do we have to—to do now? How do we save the past?"

"Mm?" That rush of heat and warmth summoned inside of him, dissolving patchworks of knotting any pain inside might have caused, and those flaming orbs peered up at the munchlax quietly. She'd been watching him, as well, the entire time, and caught what he had asked for. The deaf chimchar, now lacking an ear to show for her bravery and uncaring to it, raised her small head delicately, and nodded. "Oh, well... we have a lot of fucking phases to bitch through, so I'll make it a little easier by saying what we have to do now and then what we have hot on our trail next... and we'll go through it slowly like that. Finish one thing, I go over the next and a little bit more." Munchie then realize how unexpectedly organized Ashley was. He also realized how uneven she must have felt, with one ear cut off completely, with hopes dashed of being even at all unless someone offered to completely lop off her other one. Still, not that she could use them as it was. "First off, we find out where the fucking hell Influence stumbled off to. Then... if he's with your little buddy— _I am not fucking jealous_ "—oh gosh _she was jealous_ —"we... sure, what the hell, she'll join us too, and then once we have our team organized, we have to... we'll figure out which of these to do, but either ransack my fuckdad, or... well... we'll have to go to the spoke."

As much as Munchie hated him, the way Ashley threaded those words really made him want to look for Dusknoir before anything else. That whole spoke thing made it sound like they would either choose from spending a day hanging out with Byrender or getting swallowed by him. And they should want to hang out with him, not be eaten by him. Plus, Munchie felt relatively secure Byrender didn't even eat meat, because his diet was a solid income of apples, most of the same color and size. So that would not only disturb the eaten, but the eater, too. And be honest: hanging out with that buck-toothed bibarel and hearing his jazzy voice for the entire day sounded incredibly amazing and tempting and if anyone asked, they'd want to do that. "Let's be honest. My fuckdad is my fuckdad. But if we can just nab the time gears from him, beat the shit out of him, and then put them back where they're supposed to sit their asses down and stay, it'd be a fucking lot easier than getting repeatedly attacked by him while trying to go back to the spoke and reset everything. Plus the first option means that he's already down. The next-in-command is an even shittier next-in-command than Chindu is." And that—that was saying something. Everyone knew that Chindu was only next-in-command because he and Spirit had that thing going. So thus he stayed. They loved him, but man, he didn't know what he was doing.

"So basically either hang out with Byrender or get eaten by him. Those are our choices." It just kind of fell out, alongside Munchie's thought process which had evidently been tossed out the window some time ago. Ashley's face, though, when she heard that and put it into her own thought process: was priceless. The burst of red over her cheeks and the wide, wild spark in her flaming orbs of red and yellow and orange: it was so worth it. If Munchie could, he'd freeze that moment just to stare at the face a little longer, but it soon morphed into a fall as Ashley hit the sand again and burst into a shatter of giggles, erupting into louder, raucous waves of laughter that streamed and warmed Munchie's heart over and over again with each round until it devolved and slowly hissed into nothing but a wispy cough, to which she said, "That was fucking beautiful, Munchie. Say it again." With a nonchalant shrug—and a blooming red face—Munchie did. Her laughter spiked and hit harder, all the same. She didn't ask for another encore after but to be picked up off the ground. As Munchie assisted her, their eyes interlocked and he saw her face did happen to be as red as his, those blushes swooning in her cheeks.

Munchie also remembered the other part that'd struck his head the wrong way when Ashley was organizing what they had to do. She really was a tidy chimchar, and preferred to keep her ideals neat and righteous, unlike a certain munchlax hanging on his shaking limbs, awkwardly somewhat hugging her to try and calm her nerves. And again, words magically fell out. "I'm jealous of Influence, too, you know." The soft whisper, shrouded by the husk, forced out the sentence before he'd even saw it over, and then he was sure it was over for him, too, like his sentence was. It was just... as an eavesdropper, it was painfully obvious for the munchlax to see that yes, Ashley was jealous of Jalendalynne and how similar she and Munchie pertained, and, well, it was pretty obvious—in some ways—that she was when she said she wasn't—though he knew of pokemon that after they said they loved their friends they hastily added _in a friend way_ and those weren't lies—but he just: it was obvious for him. Some pokemon spent eons questioning it, trying to figure it out and feel safe. Munchie didn't have to question because he knew. And he'd been jealous of stupid Influence for a long time. Ever since he'd met him, pretty much.

The change in Ashley's posture was astronomical. Her limbs became an octave weaker with a lurch, and Munchie soon became the only reason her feet stayed secure on the ground, having to completely support her with his stronger self. He hadn't folded in on himself, thus making Munchie the keeper of the chimchar. Her warmth threaded though to him and his face burst in an extreme paint set of colors. Her hands nearly went limp, but scrabbled to hang onto him, and those eyes, so small, so squinted, pointed together like stars, as if trying to figure him out. All she had to say was, "ah..." and it was all she needed to say. All she could say. Munchie did feel a little awkward to be folded over this cute girl like so, but he'd known Ashley for some time now, it'd be okay. And anyways, if anyone looked awkward, it was her. Her flushed cheeks and scrabbling hands, and her wilted composure like she was losing it. Munchie didn't know... what he should do.

Eyes scrabbled shut, face turned aside, mouth screwed up, Ashley released and found a will to stand, shaking at first on her long feet, then, as her hands joined them and she shook her head a few times, stability was found. "We... we need to find Influence," she said, quietly versing, and trudged on. She'd just... what did that mean? What did that entire thing mean? Did it... what did it—did he do something bad? Was Ashley mad at him? He didn't know, but for some reason his heart beat and it assured him that she didn't feel remorse or something at him. It was... something else. Inside of her. Yes, that felt right: she was struggling with inner turmoil at the moment, inner turmoil that refused to unearth itself. That, he pawned off, was okay. He'd done that, too. They both had ways to deal with it, ways that varied much, with himself taking it out on the outside, going outdoors, freely showing off how he felt... while it seemed Ashley cooped it up within and quietly tried to figure out what was going on inside of her.

Munchie, himself, was still trying to shed a light on a situation that called for it, he'd gone so blind. It felt really dark in there, and he just felt like he was going to keep messing up if he didn't get that light out on his strange feelings hanging on. But he couldn't, because it was stuck in his throat and wouldn't go away, and it just tore right at him, through him, into him. Munchie didn't like that, so he squabbled with it, and, of course, as always, nothing happened. As if the situation had become so unbearable it had become accepted as the light Munchie struggled to shed: but it couldn't be. Those emotions inside of him: they couldn't be. Couldn't be, and that was that.

Dusk hairs on his ears shifted, shaking themselves, in the slight breeze of darkness as it spelled through. Spirit would have been furious if he knew Ashley and Munchie were outside, trying to save the world, at night. They had... become nocturnal, and the wigglytuff, he hated nocturnal. Desperately hated it with a burning passion to the point of idiocy. Past the point of idiocy. Nobody mentioned it, though. Ashley didn't, at that time; she just went on, and Munchie slowly trudged after her through the sand, until they'd come through the labyrinthine passages of Beach Cave and their coral trenches, clawing through and leaving such pink-rimmed cave as they took a path Munchie pointed out—he knew this place like it was his best friend since he was a child, and it practically had been—and popped out into the main streets of Treasure Town. Most sensible pokemon had gone off to bed, but there were always the stragglers who didn't quite get the message until after everyone else had long dispersed. And sometimes those same stragglers who didn't quite get the message never got it at all and stayed up for an entire day plus the night without fully recognizing such. Munchie could always tell if he missed a day of sleep, always. It was in his munchlax genes, hooked right up to his brain: that and eating. His stomach suddenly let out a long, abandoned sigh.

"Shit. I forgot about food." Munchie shook his head.

"No, Ashley! We just have to loop through the coral pathways just before we get into the Beach Cave and we can find a whole loot of grub. It's... what I used to survive off of." Yep, he was embarrassed. Ashley, saving his man points that he doubted he still had as it was, merely smirked and wiggled one finger from her right hand at him before turning around. The fiery tail glowing behind her shuddered with energy into the night, and her flaming orbs glowed. Munchie felt pretty darn sure if it wasn't for his coloring, he'd stick out like a sore loser on a shopping spree. But, with it, he blended into the night well. Ashley continued to look as huggable and warm and welcoming as she always did. Perhaps she digressed, but he didn't. Even though Munchie had no willpower and no stubborn authority, he stuck to that notion and he clung tightly, because unlike most anything else—not including the singed tattoo on his chest—he felt secure here, with this plump girl. He found her adorable, unlikely as others may find it, and he didn't like going away from her.

They took their meager break in the yawning echoes of hallways splashed by dull, shadowed coral and other pink marines. The occasional greenie—he now knew what those things were and didn't find them frightening at all—sauntered by, always a pink-scaled corsola with strange formations crafting its figure, and Munchie didn't care all that much about them. He'd seen these suckers before; he'd see them again. He knew they were harmless, so the thin munchlax and salty chimchar walked by with ease. As he took his own rounds, he made sure to not use so many paths that he tended to wander, as those mostly led back to the beaches where nice views or niches splayed out as good places to watch the sunset or simply the waves crashing, roaring, bellowing out, and then calmly lulling themselves to bed. Some others played as sleeping hollows. They were more or less suitable, nothing in comparison to the hay chambers he'd spent his time resting in at the guild, but also a little better than whatever the heck he'd slept on in the future. Ashley didn't want him to remember that place, though, so he didn't linger on the blackened thoughts.

Once enough food was laden in their arms, Munchie led himself and his chimchar friend back outside again. It was a short, brisk stroll, as he'd made sure would happen with the paths they took. He did know this place inside out. It was his job to figure out which directions would be easiest. A better purpose than watching the sunsets, but not so good as serving the guild. But... the more he considered it: was that really Munchie's purpose? Yeah, he'd enjoyed it; yeah, he loved those guys; yeah, it was way better than anything else he'd even had a chance to try. But still, he felt as if... there was something else. Munchie's eyes wandered and accidentally— _accidentally—_ landed on someone. What—no. She had Influence; _he didn't like Influence and she didn't deserve him._ She had her own life; _she despised her life and wanted to stay in the past and get away._ What about her family she loved so much? _...Did she really love them that much?_ She'd said they couldn't truly experience such emotions back in the future, back with those pokemon, yet the way she looked at him deterred from her accusations of herself. Maybe... Okay, he'd spit it out: maybe his purpose was to be with her. There. Happy? He said it. He freaking said it. Now leave Munchie alone. He was done.

Whether or not his purpose was to follow a deaf chimchar to the ends of Zundentun, then to the ends of the future, then to the ends of the world, why not, he still enjoyed it. He didn't have to spit that one out because it flowed naturally through him, like an exotic stream in an oasis that brimmed with life, and beauty, and happiness, and other things pokemon dreamed of. Oh, like love. His face burned at that last one, and Munchie feared he might soon understand and interpret why—correctly—but at that moment it mattered not. Munchie was allowed to be happy he was following his friend at all. They then tidily landed beneath a tree on the lingering edges of Treasure Town with nice shade, which made so sense that they chose the shady tree since it was already so inky black out, but there they sat and spread out their rainbow of goods. Munchie had managed to carry an untidy wreck of an abundance of gooey, sugary gummis, and a few, round apples, and some berries of assorted coloring as well. Ashley had something that was purple and had a rank smell, tart and dark and leaking and: why, of all things? Why, Ashley?

"Why the fuck does all of your food look so fucking delicious if mine looks like future shit?" Oh, she wasn't used to scrounging around, just for the bits she did recall from back home. And apparently, if they happened to feel like eating back there, they ate whatever, and that was what whatever looked like. Munchie yanked a tree branch from above his head with his long arm and sent a scatter of dark,wispy leaves over the vile thing his dear chimchar friend had found. He vowed to never send her on a food mission again. Munchie would stick to it himself and let her carry some sparse number, since she wasn't a munchlax and didn't have the abilities they did when it came to stocking up foods, even just in carrying. He neatly split their pile—trying to be as organized as possible for her—and abruptly took a bite of the first thing he grabbed, which happened to be a bright green berry with a weird stem on it. The gentle seep of sour fluids robbed his taste buds of perception, but he was a munchlax. This was one of his things. Trying to be casual and not quite awkward about it, Munchie slurped the lingering liquids of juice from the side of his face and shoveled the rest of its juicy pulp in quickly with a slurping _thop._

Ashley blinked at this and raised her fingers, staring down at the orange gummi she unearthed from her pile of food. "I don't know how the hell I'm going to eat all of this on my own," she calmly announced, then shoved the sugary food into her mouth, loudly chewed with exaggerated cheekbones sticking out like twigs, and swallowed harsh. It left a gulping noise. "Oh. Shit. No. I will not eat all of those. I sure do hope you munchlax weirdos do have an expansive appetite, because no way am I eating all of this shit on my own." Munchie merely nodded through his own pile of goodies and waved her off with a sticky hand. She smirked as a thin layer of yellow mush thukked her good on the face; rubbing it off and forcing it in her mouth with one hand, Ashley decided she had no idea what Munchie was eating. He looked at her through a glance from his gently-creased, gently-peeled banana and nearly laughed through yellow chunks at her look. She didn't know what they were consuming because she ate that crud hiding beneath the leaves when she felt like eating. But in the past, where everything was more normal and made more sense, she did have to eat to survive, and here she was. Munchie vaguely wondered if Influence didn't know this and nearly starved himself to death: Jalendalynne would've helped him, though.

In the end, Ashley had been right. She only forced down a couple more pawfuls of food: stomach still getting used to its need or something? Or maybe normal pokemon only needed a little bit of unaided foods, like how everyone at the guild simply could eat one apple and be done. A munchlax could not, so Munchie continued chewing without feeling too awkward because it was kind of like his life was at stake here did he not chew, so he did, and he finished all of his and most of hers and managed to hold in the majority of a burp. "Oh... okay. Munchie. Big question for you, now that that's done." Thankfully, he's only burped—almost—before this came up, so Munchie was able to rub at his pale maw a little and sit up, straighten his back, everything, appear ready. "Um... I know I shouldn't be asking shit like this, since I'm the one that bitched this plan out in the first place, but—do you think we can do this?" Do what? Eat all the food? Don't worry, Ashley; Munchie already did; he wouldn't throw up; yes he wasn't going to hurl whatsoever; he promised. "Can we... um... c-could we actually stop my dad and... s-save this place? The past? Correct the fucked future and completely eradicate it?" He ignored how much that could have implied Ashley dying and thought on his own for a moment. Could... could they actually pull this off? Did they have this power to... keep the screwed future from becoming however it became? Because if they didn't, this would all have been for naught and Munchie would find his old corpse as the future became a reality and there was nothing to stop it until the world went back to Ashley and her time and—everything. The screwed future would always be there... and whether or not they could save it—or was this fate? What was fate?

Nope. Wait. Munchie blinked to himself. Too many questions. He should just answer that first one, then maybe, if he wanted, once the world was all better, he could become a crazed philosopher and spend the rest of his life questioning the will of fate. For now, he had a simple question from a scared chimchar. He knew as the protective boy in her life that he should stand up, look cool, and assure her that they would be okay in the end, then pat her head or something as she stared up in awe of him. But that... that wasn't Munchie, and everyone knew it. He wasn't like those pokemon of Treasure Town, who did as they wished unaided and screwed everything up and called magic dumb. He'd been thrown in that mix, but he was physically an outcast, and thus he found the others who related toward him. He found Spirit Bright, he found Jalendalynne, he found... _Ashley._ Munchie purposely left a blank without including Influence because he hated Influence. Simple as that. Still... how would he, as himself, as _Munchie_ , answer his dear girl's question?

What did he think? Munchie stopped and pondered this. Well, considering he'd been blindly following all of Ashley's orders until she stopped to ask him a question, Munchie was either an idiot or he trusted her and the fact that they would stop Dusknoir and save the past and thus the future. He was really hoping he wasn't an idiot, for once in his sadistic life. Honestly... the more he thought about it, the more Munchie hoped that he truly wasn't. And... he felt like it, like he wasn't an idiot. Like he was more than a bumbling dummy, like he had personality and flavor in his life, like the world meant something to him: because Ashley. Because Ashley meant something to him, and with Ashley by his side, he felt that... anything was possible.

Munchie wished he could copy his thought and print them into Ashley's head. Instead, he had to go with his next best choice: "Um, yep." And then his throat got stuck and his soft tone slipped from his grip, and all he could see were those warm, flickering flames of eyes. "We can." He later found this speech of his remarkably terrible and would regret it for a long time, but in the moment, it was all he could think of saying. And in the moment, it was perfect. Munchie didn't think about it and regret it just yet.

"Y-you think so?" Ashley seemed to agree with him, and Munchie's spirit soared so high he felt partially gay for a strange moment.

Munchie didn't say that part either. How could one tell the girl he felt so happy around that he was gay? Was he gay? Again, Munchie felt secure in the thought that when he imagined loving someone, he imagined a female; his brain pinched him hard at that and directed him toward something, but he missed what. Or who. No, it was probably a what that he missed. Not the girl sitting in front of him, eyes glimmering so helplessly beautifully. "Y-yep! With..." He'd almost said it, but now the orbs were questioning. "WithyouIcandoanything." Then he shut up and his face blared.

"A-awwwwww! That's... really sweet." Then Ashley's eyes blinked, and again the flames had fallen, and she was... a little... upset. A little in pain about something. Munchie... didn't like how upset she looked, and it thumped him in his heart hard. "It's too sweet... It's not..." A shake of the head from the lively chimchar. Munchie hoped she might have smiled, in the least, at his comment, not appear so... so... heartbroken. Ashley, if you were going to be in such pain, at least... laugh about it. He hated that face, that painful expression edging her down, cutting it finely with a silvery knife, chopping it down to size, to sad, painful size. "Don't... say those things, Munchie... not about me."

"Ashley, you mean a lot more to me than I can explain. I'm sorry it comes out so awkwardly... I'm sorry it makes you so upset... but it's true." He quietly admitted to himself how happy he was that they never talked about Influence in those sorts of conversations, and how much he... didn't matter. Ashley understood emotions more than her entities, but still not as much as the others in the past. She was like that antisocial kid who never, never talked in the corner of the past, but the super outgoing one with all the friends and all the boys in the future that she hated so despicably much. And Munchie... he could understand. The entire time they were there, he'd felt invaded, cold, fearful, _lost, alone_ , it just kept piling up, but then Ashley's hand kept hanging onto his and squeezing his and it seemed nothing was so dark and scary. Because Ashley was there.

And she continued to stay silent for another long moment, clinging to the quiet of the night in the moment, until she whispered, "I don't see how I'm so great." In that whisper... she sounded a lot like him. Quiet. Awkward. Confused. Alone. Upset with herself. Low self-esteem, to that matter. It was all Munchie could do to stretch out his dusky blue arms and place them around her, to let her know he was there anyways. "I don't see how... you're so great. How is it possible..? That you're... this amazing?" Her whisper was met with silence and quiet, gentle sobs as Munchie hugged her and caressed her anyways, because it felt right, because it looked like she needed it.

He knew more about her than he thought.

She knew more about him than she thought.

It was... a little nice. Munchie didn't open up and unpack that thought still sitting in his heart, the one he was trying to interpret the wrong way, because he didn't want to, because it didn't feel like the right time, but he hugged her. As a friend. As a trusting soul that would believe in her until her flame-colored eyes finally puttered out, and longer. Longer than that, too. It seemed she, as well, wanted to keep him near her. Munchie didn't quite know how to feel, and it looked like Ashley didn't, too, and that was okay. That was nice. A little nice. A good nice. He smiled despite himself before releasing, and whispering, "Let's go save the world."

She smirked a little. "You'd do it better if I wasn't here."

"I'll be right next to you anyway."

"Okay. I think I'll live with it, then." Okay. And that was that. Okay. The word hollowed him. It rung through him, like a bell, picked up speed, plucked at bits of heart, and let it go, and went on. Okay. She accepted fate because it included Munchie, and he did because of she. Okay. It was better than all else they had. Okay. Okay. Okay.

And they went on. Dodging through half-black hallways of dirt, creeping across the straw tops of houses, narrowly edging behind tents, feeling the fuzz of the home on their backsides, their feet encased with grit on the bottom, a nice and healthy brown like caramel, like chocolate, like Byrender, still they went on. It took time, precarious, precious, carefully-melded time, as the moon ticked by overhead, offering meager light with its smiling crescent shape spilled overboard, and dark still stayed dark and then there was grumbling. A harsh, curt, rude grumbling that lashed out against someone else. Munchie squeaked and cried out at that sound, disappearing into the shadow of an old well with stone encircling the hole in the ground, where thankfully the pair did not lie, but behind it, and he latched out and caught the poor, yellow pichu with a reddened face as Ashley did the same to Influence. No, not quite. His angular, lanky, green self was slapped across the face by the chimchar who spluttered sparks and used her calloused fingers to paddle them over and burn the poor grovyle, who grumbled loudly, screeched, then ebbed out and his head bobbled accusingly. Ashley smirked. He did not, however. Munchie just kept sharing awkward glances with Jalendalynne, who seemed okay for the majority but looked like she might want to cry.

"I'm fucking tellin' ya, we need to just go home, Ashley! I've been hearing things about a mob—a mob of black monsters these creeps think are enchantments from the Mystery Dungeons—this mob that definitely contains Daddy Dusknoir and some buddies of his, created through the black in his mind or our own pokemon—and we'll be in the shitter by morrow. No way. No how. Who cares, anyways! Let's just go home, where it's better!" He casually spat out these words. Not to be mean, though: to stay true to his inner Influence. Munchie felt pretty sure he was named that because he had lots of younger siblings, not so he could be an influence to all the jerks in the future that wanted to stay there and liked it in their creepy hidey holes where everything was marginally dark and scary: much darker and scarier than back at home. "C'mon. Leave those punks. We don't have anything better ta d—"

Ashley simply blinked, and that shut him up good. "Yeah. Shit. No." He snorted at his mate and seemed ready to retort when Ashley continued. "I don't know why the hell you're getting so fucking pissed. We'll be fine, dammit! We have all in our reason to feel safer here, dammit! Why go back to the hellhole of our lives? Shit! It's so fucking perfect here in Zindenny!" Zundentun, but he didn't correct her. Ashley was a flame about to set fire to change. A good change. "And why the fuck does it matter what"—she shared an important glance with that sly grovyle—"happens, we know what we're doing. And this is for much better than what your sorry ass would be up to now without this hope to use, to light, to make happy and shit. And... who the fuck said we couldn't? My fuckdad! He told you he could win, not that he actually could and proved it! Dammit, can't you tell? He's a bitch who's pretending everything. _You_ come on, you sorry fuck!" Wow, that wasn't bad. Munchie also saw how much she changed, right then. How... she said she didn't like her identity. That was her identity, but there were parts of her she couldn't quite reach, couldn't quite see. He liked those parts, and he didn't mind this part, either. Now it just slightly made him laugh from the nostalgia. And... it was from his answer that inspired her so deeply. She might have never gotten this far did Munchie not try to... be there for her. He smiled again in spite of himself.

"Oh, fucking shit—fine! Fine! We'll do it. Now I need some fucking foooood! I don't know what the hell it is, but that yellow girl over there says we need it or we'll, like, die or whatever that term is. So... we need somewhere to crash. She said her pad was good." Her... pad? Oh, like that gigantic mansion built into the Foggy Forest. Whoa. They were... they were going there to spend the night? They... that sounded absolutely exhilarating and amazing. "We'll stay around there, but we should try to get out around sunset, travel by night, make it easier."

Ashley nodded, now accepting her mate a little more. "Okay great. From what I've seen, my dad hasn't really done much yet, so we just have to get ourselves started." Thinking of Dusknoir made Munchie think of Jordan, which, in turn, made him consider Spirit and what could have happened to him and the others, and his heart went soft and numb and sad. He wanted to check in on the guild, but it seemed he couldn't. He... he officially was with Ashley for number one. Always... surrounding by her. He'd do that, then, and it'd be okay, it seemed. He was okay with that.

Before they left, Munchie quickly checked in with the tall—though up to the edge of his chest—pichu as he released her, apologizing profusely and receiving profuse forgiveness. "So... we'll stay with these relatives of yours? You're okay... with that? You'll be fine?"

"Yes... of course." She simply smiled. "I feel as if... I should not stay with your crew. I am not... the strongest... and I would lag behind... and I have had enough... of this adventure—which I feel... in my heart. But... you can stay with me... for a little longer. It would be... fun. I have... never had... a true sleepover..." The first thing that registered in Munchie's mind was that her voice was even softer with his, husk or no. Her dainty flower petal whisper now forever etched in his mind had this gentleness, this sweetness, this softness, that nothing could compare to. And also, he saw that they were kind of similar. It seemed when you didn't hang out with complete oddballs like Bright Spirit, one started realizing that, right, everyone did have at least one thing in common with another, and at least one thing not in common: but hey, you did have something similar.

Smiling back, Munchie simply nodded. "It'll be fun." And Jalendalynne nodded, too, in agreement. Yes. It would be a smashing good time, and they would enjoy it. They would very much enjoy it.

Ashley and her mate eventually toned down on their screeching at one another and the rough, pugnacious quarrels spouting like weeds throughout them, but all was good by the end of their albeit rocky start. Munchie and Jalendalynne got along by the metaphorical relation of daisies, bright white-petaled, yellow-dotted flowers sprung up with gentle scents and huggable looks. Daisies. Hey, they weren't the weeds, and Munchie was thankful. Their trek, once settled, to the Foggy Forest was much simpler than the munchlax remembered. A short walk off from Treasure Town, and it opened up, the Foggy Forest of white, pristine fog, even in the black of night, though with some smoky shadows pertained to it now. The ground itself was covered by fogs so thick that the dark didn't even stream through. Just... regular coloring of flaky, puffy, brown dirt. Munchie was pleased to see that this hadn't been altered by the dankness of the loss of a time gear, not just yet. But it would, soon. If Dusknoir had it his way, he would still have a kidnapped Jordan and stack of complete—no, almost complete—time gears in his hand. The one for the Waterfall Cave, whether he realized it or not—probably didn't; he looked like an idiot—was still sealed. Ashley and he had made sure of it. For how many dull points were on the time gear, there was one missing for the number that guy had in his big, white mitt. How Munchie pleaded he didn't realize one was missing. Oh how he pleaded.

They had nothing to do but go completely forward. The walk itself happened to be crisp and cool and nicely temperature-oriented, and it was nice in general, and the pristine fog was pretty and sparkled some. It didn't take that much time for the great, teak-wood doors of shining, elegantly-carved brown thus ineffective to the moist mist outside to show themselves up. Still, the walk was long enough that being completely shrouded in the mist of the Foggy Forest, and the fact that the entire rest of the house was made by some elegant, white gem, it was basically impossible to find unless you both knew exactly where it was and happened to be looking for it as well. Jalendalynne, face slightly pinking, gestured them in as her soft, fluffy yellow paw ran along the handle—who needed security when her parents were sleeping and no one came anyway?—and notched it open. No such as a creak emerged. Munchie and his sleepy friends wandered on in—yep guess who he just considered a friend as of now—and the silent, softly tiptoeing pichu showed them through the great entry hall with chandeliers and actual—actual _carpets. Like, legit carpets._ Those alone amazed him. He could have slept the night away on one of those carpets. But he didn't.

They filed close behind the girl and she led them carefully into a hallway through many corridors and warm, white rooms and walls and chandeliers and those beautiful, white carpets, into a single room filled with oodles of pink. She really liked pink. Also, painted flowers adorned the walls and gentle, flowing creases of red silk spouted from natural crevices, and it was beautiful, and that fluffy pouf of a bed with real blankets in the back was beautiful, and they went to it and everyone slept like kings of one castle they all shared together. No one questioned, just calmly chimed to rest.

Munchie took longer to find sleep than the others. His dark orbs wandered, and he saw how cute Ashley slept, splayed beside him, one thumb in her mouth, the other resting underneath her orange hairs and head mushed against it and pillows. Influence, stretched up above him, made rumbling noises as he slept, and Jalendalynne, curled up in a sweet little ball further out, one foot tucked into her, the other pulled by a sleeping Influence's hand, her ears twitching like streams of wind on a calm midsummer night. It was a pretty scene, and Munchie was sharing it with pokemon he was happy to be around, and the last thing he felt before falling into slumber was Ashley's own hand clenching over him, and the smile etched across his lips.

 **Me: Aw that's so pretty I should draw that scene.**

 **Jalendalynne: ...pretty...**

 **Ashley: it'd be fucking terrible**

 **Me: gee thanks for the encouragement**

 **Ashley: ewe hwaaaaaahh~**

 **Me: you know I COULD REPLACE YOU WITH ONE OF THOSE OSHAWOTTS.**

 **Ashley: THE FUCK?**

 **Me: I COULD**

 **Ashley: PLEASE DON'T I APOLOGIZE FOR MY WAYS**

 **Me: … apology accepted.**


	8. Scenarios Sure to Make you Happy Cry

**Me: Anyone else realize I forgot to say I was going to a summer camp for two weeks?**

 **-kricketunes in the background-**

… **yeah love you too.**

 **Ashley: :3 I don't take shit like that and remember to tell others. I kind of zone off, all of your damnations like that.**

 **Me: Is that even a word?  
**

 **Ashley: Is what even a word?**

 **Me: Byrender beaver bibarel dam nations?  
**

 **Ashley: PFFFT. COVERUP. I SMELL IT.**

 **Me: IS IT A WORD?  
**

 **Ashley: I HAVE NO IDEA?**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Eight: Scenarios Sure to Make you Happy Cry

They rose in bumbling, tittering, teetering, tottering clumps of the finest, softest, most lavish blankets Munchie felt he would ever see in his entire life—fate had elbowed him right on that—and at first seemed unable to escape their plush though disastrous cage. Was it even a cage? It felt more like a big, ugly, certain dad was hugging them into suffocation into death. Ashley's dad, to be exact: Dusknoir, to be even more exact. Sometimes the most specific pronouns were needed because not everyone guessed right on the first try. But that was who it was, and that was who Munchie's scraggly mind thought of when he was stuffed by those wonderful arrays of blankets. Like a hill of pure amazing awesomeness he never wanted to get out of. Luckily for him, everyone else was pretty much stuck too. Unfortunately, they knew how severe the punishment was if they didn't get this whole screwed up future thing looked at and fixed, like it was an elderly disease that needed looking at before it like took over your entire body and picked your carcass, then whatever was left of your frayed soul, clean.

That scared Munchie a little less than it should have at first. Maybe he was still a little groggy; maybe something didn't fit quite right in his long, idiot, angular—triangular—ears, but Ashley sure wasn't having it. Flaming orbs and long, slim fingers dove into him and barreled his wrapped figure up then down then straight off his kingdom throne hillock bed thing and sent him reeling nigh through the open doorway. Influence smirked an ugly, green smirk as his red underbelly rippled like a tongue flicking out at him—that disgusting Influence—as he curled the door back like a banana peel and Munchie limply fell to the ground just in the entrance of Jalendalynne's bedroom. It was followed by a _frrrrrrUMP_ , like sound hadn't quite caught up with gravity. Or maybe he just took an extra moment to slip from his blankets. Jalendalynne's blankets. Yeah. Those. For after he fell, even though he was outrageously thin, it still made quite a hounding sound. To him, it sure did. Maybe not to any of his friends, but to him, oh yeah it did.

Munchie pathetically shook his head a few times, dusky blue fur puttering about him, and screwed up his jaw, letting those crooked, white teeth sticking out feel somewhat fierce for the time being. They sure liked the sudden attention. Made him feel a little scary, too. Of course, even if he'd been a real munchlax or something as horrendous as Ashley's dad the black wisp monster guy with a face for a stomach, Influence the grovyle blinked his dull, yellow orbs that just cast him aside mentally and ripped for an arm, his own squishy, green fingers slashing through the air. Munchie winced and stepped back. His feet didn't really help, hence he tripped over some blankets, and fell, and Influence grabbed a toe and dragged him. This, and all he'd tried to do was look a little impressive, a little scary. Freaking Influence; freaking Ashley's mate. That scarlet-colored underbelly seemed to mock him as he was dragged a few paces, then hastily slumped against the wall.

As it was broaching some time of the day where the sun was out, and this hadn't been so prior, Munchie decided it was best he catch a glance at the colors and looks of his gentle pichu friend's room before they had to leave. It felt righteous or something. Chivalrous—no, maybe... just kind of him. Courteous. So anyways, those knots of blankets, so reluctant to let go of the pokemon they'd hooked onto like feisty monsters that scared the heck out of poor Munchie, were fairly heavy-looking and had odd, floral patterns stamped across them then weaved back together so it kind of looked nice but also super uptight. Munchie wasn't so sure he could pull off super uptight, but apparently that hot mess of covers had served as his bedding last night, so it seemed he could. Maybe. Sort of. Just maybe. Munchie crossed his fingers a little at that last part.

Diverting his attention back to being courteous and understanding how regal and cool his humble rest place had been to him and how it just looked it, dark orbs rimmed with light hope scattered back to the yawning door, white with gold pattern, to the room of the tall, daffodil-yellow pichu girl Jalendalynne. Her long, stretched pink scarf trekked on the soft white carpet behind her as she scuttled to and fro of the room, reorganizing her knotted, mottled bunches of blankets in that one corner and rows of windows just to the side of that corner ambled out light, not held together by their pink curtains as they maybe should have been, Munchie couldn't tell. He was a thin munchlax. Heck if he knew anything. Past the windows were streamers of thick, white fog and maybe a patch of blue called sky. No yellow stripes—no sunshine—obviously shone through. Sad as it was. Why the impeccably rich or something family chose to live in the middle of mucky woods chock-full of fog and mist made no sense to him. Did they want their child to live a lonely life of solitude with nothing but parents and creepy trees to accompany her? Or relatives—what kind of family was this thing? Then Munchie recalled of his skinny self and his abstain of parents though it wasn't really his choice more their choice because he was skinny and a child and they were like no this thing is not going to become a strong munchlax and thus he was deposited, and thus he had no parents to live in the creepy, foggy woods with.

And sad as it was, he'd have rather lived in the creepy, foggy woods with his parents than have no parents at all. Well... that wasn't so sad. He didn't know the feeling of that unconditional parental love thing that most parents didn't abide well toward. Munchie sure saw that Jalendalynne, though, her family seemed to slip into that role rather nicely. He hoped he would get to see her again and that he wouldn't die or something later on. Then the munchlax's stomach released a thin pang of a howl and he remembered what food was. If those blankets in that pichu's room could make a food-polishing creature like him forget—he didn't want to know what they were made of. Heavenly, but... deadly? He didn't know. Munchie wasn't sure if he wanted to know, either. Whatever that strange family did, he suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to know about it. Munchie's head hurt. Oh yeah, he was hungry. He wanted food. Food made everything better. Well, unless your main problem was a terrifying dad with a face for a stomach. Could the face, like, eat anything that was thrown at it? Well the last time he'd seen the yellow slit pour open, it was to suck in the munchlax and his nearby buddies whom of all were flung into that crazy realm of the future. The screwed future, as Ashley called it. Simply... the future.

Like the deaf one knew he'd just thought of her and felt sorry for her sad life, she rippled with a sudden, violent curse. Munchie's breath was knocked away at it, and he blinked slowly, stunned and not sure on how much he liked hearing that. In the end, though, he had to thank his chimchar friend for her careless cussing streak because as his strange, angular head tipped around, white hallways with white carpet encompassed his sight and began closing in. If not for that utter of such a dirty word—Ashley's mouth must have been metaphorically caked with crusty, grimy gruel—Munchie may have never heard her and weaved to the right, but not a complete right, down a left, and found her again. Man, those hallways were asking for them to get lost.

Then the munchlax learned the reason why his short, somewhat stout, and long-fingered and -footed friend that he cared so unreasonably much for had used the word in the first place. She was lost. And now they were both lost. Realization dawned like the sun over a morning field, and Munchie was stricken with idiocy. Of course. Of course. She cursed all the time, but not always like that. "Aw..." he mumbled off to himself. "Aw... what did I do..." Ashley used that word again and Munchie was tempted to land a fist on her head because he was mad at himself for being stupid. He didn't know why that involved landing a fist on Ashley's cute orange-hair bob over her head, but apparently it did. The emotions he felt for her fizzed from the tips of his fingers and toes and met up somewhere between—what, his heart? Ew, probably not, this wasn't _that_ feeling. Maybe. He hoped not. After that, Munchie spent some time trying to shake off the carbonation it happened to bring, but that didn't seem to help. His heart felt shaken up and seemed to bubble within him. Strange. Very strange.

A call piercing just as awkwardly as his fingers had directed Munchie toward the lanky, scratchy owner of the tone with the rasping whisper. "Over here, stupids! The girl said there was food we could raid back there!" His call came alive inside of the munchlax, whose fur began to shiver in clumps at the realization of the moment—he was saved, he was saved by the dratted grovyle—but Munchie obediently followed a couple of rights, then a couple of lefts, then another left, then what looked like a drop off a top of a staircase the munchlax didn't remember scaling prior. Again with the strange.

Surely enough, dull, yellow orbs leveled with Munchie, but they soon caught up on Ashley's flames. He mouthed a few words that could have been chewed into anything, and Ashley slowly responded with a slur: "The fuck're you calling stupid, bastard? And we don't raid. Dammit, we're helping these folks." A snort. "Fucking bimbo. He's a Jojo alright. Heeeee's a Jojo." The joke from some time ago about that name popped in Munchie's head. He felt like a bimbo, a Jojo, himself, and blinked sourly. Ashley had called him that, too, once upon a time, like he'd been a runt. He supposed he was—seriously, look at this pathetic munchlax skinnier than the chimchar beside him, maybe the grovyle too. Still... hearing Ashley use that on Influence made it teeming with feelings like it was an insult or something. Its meaning had flipped over like a beached wailmer, right back into the ocean where it belonged. Munchie blinked timidly, losing himself half to sleep and half to wailmers.

"Okay, Influence, are you ready to start being nice again?" He grunted something. "Shit—that's not what I asked for, bitch bucket!" Grumbling morphed into agitated noises in the back of that long, sleek, green throat. "Not that either! Dammit, Inf, spill the fucking words already! Spill them or I'll spit on you—you fucking know I will!" It took grueling amounts of effort: the nagging, the threatening, the actual act of Ashley's spit flinging from her lips and splattering against Influence more than once, the guilt-tripping, and the reminder that the future was screwed and guess what he was part of it. Also he was a lot worse than Munchie. That last part finally tottered him over and out rolled an apology of sorts.

"Great! Now tell us where this dining hall Jalinlenduh... that sounds about right. Where's the dining hall she told you about? Or the mess hall? Or whatever fucking hall we're supposed to digest food in and not starve? I dunno if you knew this, you fucking imbecile Influence, but we kind of do need sustenance in the present. So... what the hell are we doing."

Quickly Munchie whispered a correction: "Jalendalynne." Ashley smirked and nodded. Sorry, he had to.

This long string of Ashley and her coarse, fiery dialogue, lighting up like the fiery tail on the other end of her body, sent Munchie back to quietly, awkwardly observing around. His head swerved like how some bird pokemon flew, and that was sad: sad for the bird. Sad for his head, too. Blinking almost irritably, he acknowledged a few corridors sticking out like toes from the foot of the clean, white hallway. The same white carpets accompanied the same white walls, but there were curtains that strung from a light, peachy yellow and a more gilded—sort of golden—texture outlined and patterned a few chosen fabrics hanging from such walls. The ceiling was so high up the tallest guy in the world—even bigger and scarier than Dusknoir—could shoot up a spitball and not hit the very top. He was not kidding. Munchie was trying to be as serious as possible with that mansion's height. Some of this thing must have been in the ground, in a hill, like the guild, or everyone would have seen and crashed it by now, geez. But he continued observing the interesting, intricate corridors swinging from up high above with grace and strength like nothing this pathetic, skinny munchlax could do. White and yellow paralleled frequently, and dots of pink—dots of flowers, really, painted ones mostly though a few dots of such looked real and the air smelled like roses—hung elegantly. Flowers, man, they were elegant. Elegant like nothing else this guy had ever seen.

That long string of Ashley and her coarse, fiery dialogue was followed by a lot of nothing and a lot of observation and staring. Almost too much for Munchie to handle, making him want to screech or something and let it out. Thankfully, the tree-like Influence caved before the scruffy mammal could and stated, "She told me they have food. She told me we'd need it. She told me to wait for her and she'd help, but that's as far as she's going. What the hell else do you want from me, dammit?"

And the chimchar in question—if it wasn't Munchie in question, and he sure hoped it wasn't—blinked tenderly. A mock tenderly, because first she spat at him and winked a flaming orb. "I think that's enough, actually. Shit. You're fucking whiny today, man. What did you do, wake up with the girl's foot in your mouth?" Actually, he had; Munchie recalled him with that foot cuddled against him and since he was an eavesdropper and he knew a lot more than some pokemon when it came to social circumstances, he knew that, too. But if anything, he felt sorry for poor Jalendalynne. She was the one stuck with that creepy, futuristic grovyle breathing down her leg. Her leg, of all things. He was cuddling with a poor little pichu's leg—mature as she was, he called her poor and little for the sake of propaganda. Some pokemon weren't liked by others, and Influence just happened to be one that crawled up Munchie's skin and died there. He would never be able to lose that feeling. He just... he just knew it.

Apparently, even though the truth was flat up in his face, Influence said nothing. They all kind of sat around with limpid expressions, staring at everything but one another. Well, no, Munchie and Ashley caught glances and chafed pleas of help at each other a couple times—at least, he had, she kind of looked lost and desperate but he couldn't be sure—but that was it. Nobody made a move for Influence; Influence didn't make a move for anyone. So... they were waiting for that softhearted pichu with the look of a posh dandelion or daisy to join them and assist their idiot selves. More shuffling, like ghosts were out, came from a room down some maze of a passage or another, but it was really just Jalendalynne fixing up those blankets and her room a little more. Munchie idly wondered if she had some pretty birch wood dressers or something smocked in gold and maybe glazed with some nice white stowed away in that room somewhere he'd missed.

The footsteps condensed down on them like lingering drizzles of rain. All they heard in the white chambers were the soft _thump, thump, shump_ of tiny, yellow feet moving on carpet as gently as they did. The hot, awkward tension in their cramped foot of a corner only bloomed as the footsteps ensuing them added on, grew louder, and proved to be coming to a close. Nice and close to Munchie and the futuristic friends that were actually mates which Munchie hated and felt like Ashley didn't deserve. Honestly, who did deserve Influence? Not his old, kind mom whose name Munchie was sure was Rock, or any of those adorable little treeko kids, or even the strange mom and step-mom the fiery biped beside him had that were practically family to him. Oh. Maybe her dad deserved him. Dusknoir and Influence? Did that... work out right? Fearfully tiptoeing around the thought of a monster like that black gaseous creep in his presence, Munchie decided that even though he was devoid of enjoying this and feeling happy about the present, or feeling happy about making a difference and making everything pretty and sparkly again, or feeling happy—or feeling emotions whatsoever: even though all of that junk was going on with Influence, or wasn't, really, he still stuck around. That made him seem like such a good role model Munchie wanted to cry from the hatred pooling out of him. It puddled, though, it did.

Thankfully there was a small staircase of perhaps a trio of steps Jalendalynne had to cross before she was on the same level as her buddies just below, and she happened to stutter over one step or another and, whoops, trip and dangle in the air before unceremoniously landing on a soft landing pad. No, there weren't landing pads in the room. The landing pad was the color of the night sky, and his name was Munchie. The landing pad was—yes—a male. It had a gender. Shaking himself off, Munchie the now-retired landing pad helped ease the cute and still petite girl from her rough landing like all kind men should, vowing to never do that again if he could stand it. The tall but still short pichu twitched her cute, large ears, their motions like long stalks of grass on a dry, summer wind, and accepted his assistance, mumbling a thanks or so. Removing her fluffy, yellow hand from his scruffy, blue one, she poised in step, an icy breath of wind now in winter before meeting with the earth. She shook herself like he had, only delicate with somehow splendor. "We should... eat... and recover... before you leave," was all she had to say after the nasty spill.

Simple. Munchie always liked that about the girl. She asked to be his friend and suggested things they probably needed and she was either incapable of or didn't appreciate yelling, and she was pretty fantastic, albeit. Even with that knot of positive things stacked up in her favor, Munchie found his strangely addled mind thinking in fascination about how—strangely—cute the chimchar beside her was, long hands and feet, that orange bob of hair with the longer, knotted tips, the flaming orbs, and everything else too that he didn't mention. Why was he finding this primate adorable at this moment as he released Jalendalynne's hand and strayed back from her, arm crashing into the back of his head like he was either cool or excessively embarrassed? And obviously the latter was what everyone knew had to be true? Embarrassing, it was. Munchie was a big embarrassment, and that was that. He huffed out a breath on his own, but didn't feel all that much better. Oh well. He shrugged, elbow bending in a funny direction. Munchie's arms then swayed to the sides they were supposed to sway at and stopped trying to do whatever it was. Everyone but Influence had stared at him like he was turning mad: the one who hadn't glared at the space in the air above him, like he wanted a chunk of the plaster in the walls to knock over and kill Munchie. Oh, didn't he feel loved at that moment.

Wordlessly, they followed the little electric-type through her large, strange, labyrinthine home of splendor and prettiness and the specific aroma of roses. Quite a marvelous mansion, though this scruffy soul was the kind of creature who didn't see enough mansions to compare this one to any of them. He honestly had never even been remotely close to setting foot in one until that moment Jalendalynne was all like they had to rest why not rest in her house. Kind of her; smart of her; and Munchie now had bragging rights. Guess what: he'd seen a mansion's interiors! Oh yeah, everyone would totally be jealous of him. Sarcasm nearly suffocated him, clogging up his throat like wads of his fur got caught up in his windpipe. Well, in sudden reminder: Mystic wouldn't have been jealous. She was a princess, right.

Thinking about his missing friends and wherever their lost gallade girl had gone off to brought in sadness and shame like buckets of tears he had to carry on his shoulders, so for the sake of himself, Munchie tried not to think of it all that much. It sort of kind of helped him.

Passing by the open arm of the door creaking out by a crook to Jalendalynne's precious and gigantic room, Munchie glanced toward its interior and the sunlight-glazed windows again, but he didn't catch enough sight of it as the pace they streamed was fast and they had to shovel in food and get outside and talk about their master plan thing to save the world. Man, this was quite the scenario. It was one of those things nobody believed unless they were either unbearably gullible or had been there, done that. Ducking past enough hallways, enough stairs, enough doors held shut in their faces by gold knobs, they fell into a rhythm of searching about the mansion. It came and went through the motions, Munchie and Ashley and Influence mostly following their humble guide in a clumped knot of curiosity, confusion, and also a special thing the futuristic buddies called, and again, he only quoted because it was only right, _holy-shit-what-is-this._ They didn't even say what the "what is this" part meant. It was simply known as "what is this," and that was that. Munchie didn't always like ending on a solid that was that with no answer. It slightly irritated him, not knowing, being left off then and there. Fortunate for him, their food was not one of those matters, for surely, soon enough, with a gleeful nod of her bubbly head, Jalendalynne pointed out a heavy and tall set of double doors she crooked open, inviting her guests in. Munchie couldn't say for the others, but he felt like a speck of dirt in a perfectly clean world. It felt wrong to belong in such a magnificent set of doors: but yet... he did, odd as it was.

First it was the living pichu welcoming them to this huge banquet-like setting. Then the chairs seemed to beckon with their yawning openings, just asking for their behinds to sit and rest and the tables asked for their presence in front of them, and the flowers loitered on tables, passed out like food on real banquet ceremonies with the tables. The flowers asked for them as well. Geez, did anybody ever live here? Who went in all of those crazy rooms all the time? Either this family was passionate about simply being rich, they had a lot of guests, or, you know, they were mental. He was sure they weren't though because of how effulgent this beautiful place was, it made his sad, dark orbs cry sad tears. Metaphorical tears. He didn't legit weep or anything, that'd be sad, sadder than he already was on his own with his skinny, mangled appearance. But the rows of tables beckoned, and the posh, white chairs with their pink cloths seemed to shift anxiously in place, so Munchie and friends took a spill on the floor. The white carpet felt... so much more comfortable. What started as a desperate munchlax scooting on the ground became the trio sitting together, legs crossed like children and everything.

"Damn, this place was regal." Ashley had a knack for breaking the silence. If silence was ice, Ashley—well—she already was perfect for the job. Munchie had to be thankful for that, how casually she could meld through conversation like the last thing she'd directly said didn't involve spitting at her mate or anything. "Well, this place _is_ regal. Everything is the shit over here. The bedrills' knees, whatever the hell satisfies you. This place:... this place..." She blinked angrily, stuck out her tongue. "Fuck." She stopped, scratched her head with one set of long, sand-colored fingers. "I have no idea what to call this damn masterpiece. I fucking lost it. Shit shit shit shit. Shit." She blinked profusely with each curse as she ambled onward.

"Well, I'm fucking happy you enjoy this place's shit, but what the hell is ou—"

"FANTASTIC! AHA! I FOUND IT! PRETTY DAMN FANTASTIC. FINE AND ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DAMNDY."

When she toned down to a burning silence again, Influence found himself capable of continuing. "What the hell is our plan, Ashley?"

"You know what it is. Why the fuck are you asking me?"

"Because _Munchie_ doesn't, and I'm fucking looking out for him, and I don't feel like talking myself." And Munchie saw why; that guy had a mean whisper for a voice. A raspy halt of tone, like ballroom dancing that abruptly stopped, then started, then someone stepped on someone's foot and it stopped, ceased, moved on, stopped, all in bedraggled fashion. Then the munchlax, feeling such bedraggled sense, stopped cold on his own as it crashed a cold, hard avalanche on him that Influence just said a bunch of words from his sick snout that he never thought he'd live to hear. If that trashy grovyle said a thing that kind, it'd be at Munchie's funeral. Or maybe behind everyone's backs. Or maybe to please Ashley. But not... what? Wow. That was unexpected. Awkward moment. Munchie didn't know what to do to try to hide his uneasy surprise that felt a little nice but mostly left him breathless and flabbergasted.

As a lot of commotion set off like a bomb from Munchie's right, where a long, thin row of symmetrical doors that all opened to the right displayed food Jalendalynne was clambering for, Ashley gently shrugged her small, sloped shoulders. He found that position, so casual but with an air of a pout, cute. There was something wrong with him. Munchie was broken. How did he break, and how could he get himself fixed? Did anyone have some maple syrup on hand he could use to stick himself together again or something? "Well... the plan is... nn. We get some fucking fine and dandy delights to eat. We leave. We surprise-attack Mr. Dad of mine. That's the big stuff so far. Then I guess we'll have to save Jordan first since that's like the guild's thing or whatever..?" Not really sure, Munchie shrugged. "Great. We'll go over our other shit later. Just steps at a time. But if we can nab everything from my dad, then everything is that much easier. If you doubt our ability to do something as big as save the world, I'll kick. Okay?" Everyone nodded because Ashley looked like quite the kicker.

Established, order set in. Scurrying up to them, the cute, sweet, gentle pichu delivered what looked like bunches and bunches of food but seemed not even to make the smallest dent in those terrifyingly large stores of nourishment. Those mansion's cabinets seemed capable of dishing out desserts and nightmares on hand. Nothing left to do, the lonesome trio first gobbled down assortments of flavors, from rich and sweet to juicy to succulent to red-hot spicy, burning down a maw to putrid and bitter to shamelessly salty to sticky and sour, but as the numbers continued to pore at them and it was evident they'd need all the helpings they could force down, unknowing to when their next meal might be, the food became laborious and messy and covered both splotches of floor Jalendalynne made coordinated and careful haste to clean, and rainbows of stains arcing across each character. Even stupid Influence, who maybe was somewhat thoughtful of him because Ashley happened to like Munchie and he seemed to like pleasing Ashley, was polka-dotted in a various array of juices of all kinds of pulps and colors and even some stems stuck out like stumps or tree roots. Influence had evolved into a tree. Munchie sniggered and berry juice dribbled out of his nose. Ashley soon followed suite. Disgusting: but it was great.

The last of the entrails were devoured that Jalendalynne thoughtfully supplied, and they soon had nothing left to do but bid her farewell, remember she was their guide, get led around a little more like bumbling idiots, and then leave those marvelous doors behind to the fogs as they bid, finally, bid their friend farewell. Munchie let her know he'd miss her a lot and even began to tear up which he heftily wiped away and fooled nobody. The girl promised she'd tell her parents she finally had friends, to which they all were merry except maybe not Influence and the trio set off, leaving their musketeer behind to rest up and do whatever she did out there. It didn't take very many steps for Munchie to feel the pangs of sadness. The first step was not, in fact, always the hardest. Sometimes it took a few: then they all became the same hardest. But recognizing a certain chimchar and a certain grovyle made it easier. It did, honestly. It did.

Still, they had ground to cover. They had trust to secure and a terrifying daddy to... stop. Somehow. But it seemed that was what they had to do, because after that pep talk he'd attempted to give Ashley and seemingly succeeded in, she wouldn't take no for an answer. She would spit, she would threaten to kick—and then kick, she would snarl and howl and cause a wreck, but she would not take a no. She'd gallantly displayed this and passed her proving with flying colors with the racket Influence had been causing first.

As earth turned way to puffy fog and puffy dirt, and it became a struggle to distinguish where he could place his foot next, Munchie noted silently that it wasn't too bad to go off without shy and flowery Jalendalynne. He just: like the guild, he knew her. He truly knew this creature like with his brain and heart and stuff, and they had a connection and everything. And then he had to leave like he did his other buddies because the world was at stake and Jalendalynne—she was even more antisocial than Munchie and was ready to stop before she began dragging the others down. Munchie quietly took in the denting, dawning moment that the girl had invested her faith toward that loopy trio. If she couldn't trust them, she would have probably ran along with their idiot selves anyways and tried to make things right, whatever things were wrong. Which, honestly, there were a lot of things wrong with them. Flaws stuck out like Munchie's crooked teeth when it wasn't so stiffening with fog. But here they were, anyways, and she'd trusted them. That made his feet propel and hit the earth with satisfying slaps each time, and Munchie found that in a debatable sense, he was a little brave now. More than just a blind follower, but a brave follower, heck, practically a leader since it didn't look like they really had leaders. Well, Ashley was feeding out her plan to him slowly, so he didn't know all that much—being a gifted eavesdropper let it sink in that she was keeping something at bay for now, hiding it from him—but he knew something and he felt kind of brave and dang it, let Munchie see what he wanted to see. If he wanted to believe he had actual good things about him—actual self-esteem moment here—then why not. Why—the heck—not.

For a few moments afterword, Munchie felt like an inflated hothead and smiled at himself. Influence whipped his head back a few times to get a good look at those cavernous rocks of teeth, the long, dark leaf on his head swiveling with every crack of his head motioning, and seemed to smirk. He didn't do much else. Those creepy, squishy green fingers kept to themselves, swaying by his side regularly like a metronome in place, keeping its pace over and over again. Because Munchie wasn't all that good with time, he didn't have much to say on the matter. He'd seen the future and the present and felt like he'd only gotten more lost in this cold, dark space-time continuum that could be accessed by a gaseous man's face stomach. Things just got stranger in his life. He welcomed it because he'd welcomed Ashley, but still, most pokemon didn't see things like Dusknoir. The poor guy could hardly process that sort of... uh... thing. Just thing. Just how.

Either way, he felt pleasantly proud of himself. Not sure why, just a sort of aloof joy. Perhaps because he was surrounded by fog and Dusknoir hadn't showed up yet so he could still be happy for the time being. "Hey, Ashley..?" He paused, and so did the voice: his voice: his soft whisper, the husk faithfully eclipsed over it. "Do you ever think of staying here, in the past? With..." He wanted to say _me_ but didn't because Influence was right there and that would be kind of awkward. Stupid Influence. It was instinct by now. "With the... sunshine and everything? And the happy stuff? And sunsets? And... uh..." he didn't know what else to say but, "hugs?"

It just... it kind of felt right in the moment, but now he wasn't so sure. Munchie felt the need to shrink into his dusky, raggedy fur after trying to suggest such a thing that was probably really dumb and putrid and everyone would hate him because... because everyone would. Munchie, no, he consoled himself, shut up. Shut up, brain. He was fine. Try to be... like, brave or something. He had Ashley. Heck, he had Influence. Feel the bravery, man. "Uhh..." She left it cut off for a moment, then whispered something, and a rasp whispered back that was Influence, and the huddling motion to his side slumped in a shrug. "Er... I mean, yeah, I'd... d-diddly-damn like to..." Another shrug. "That would be fun, I suppose. Shit like that..." Still, it felt off. Munchie knew it, Ashley certainly knew it, and it seemed even tree the influential grovyle—sorry, he couldn't help it—was in on the little secret with her. She wanted to, but she didn't take it for... granted? Something socked him in the stomach and churned up his breath inside of him, icy and hot and steamy and breathless, all in all. Munchie deliberated that meant he wouldn't really be happy if she didn't stay. It would make him sad. It would make him sad...

Shuffling, shrugging, Munchie mumbled, "Yeah, you have a big family you'll probably have to look over in the future..." And there it was. Self-confidence slipping on the ice rink of his chilly breath he'd lost and fumbled over and felt so cold now. He so badly had wanted to chip in with _that are a lot more important than me_ , how badly he did... but he... didn't. He didn't. Weird. Apparently he did have some sort of prowess in him. Being with these other entities was... changing him some. Of course it was. He'd never been in contact with others prior. It was inevitable. Still, the shock of her not staying there with him ached dully, sent cold tears reigning over his eyes and threatening to let loose. Cold breaths of pain from inside of him lurched out, and eventually the throbbing pang ebbed a little. He was fine. Not really, but sort of. And sort of was a better word than not really. A better double-word... double-word-phrase, whatever it was. It was better. Just... try to hang onto it, Munchie, he reminded himself, just try to hang onto it.

It kind of sort of worked, the whole hanging on business. It felt like it did, but it was cold and he didn't like the idea of losing Ashley all that much. Didn't... didn't like it... at all. How strange. Stupid of him. Munchie shook himself, but that trick didn't help him much anymore. "Fucking damn, Munchie! It's not that I don't want to be away from you! It's the complete damn opposite! Shit!" Oh so he was easy to read too. Without his consent, a sob broke loose and splattered onto both his arm and his chest as Ashley careened into him and Influence, being Influence, didn't seem to notice or react whatsoever. Munchie was starting to wonder if he was either blind and deaf or mental or didn't seem to notice these things or... something that wasn't his fault. Munchie was... oh, he didn't know, but he did know one thing, and it was that he didn't want to see this girl disappear like that... He didn't want to just say goodbye one day and leave for a time like they just did with Jalendalynne. Yeah, she was a friend; yeah, she meant a lot to him; yeah, she was cool...

but she wasn't Ashley...

They stayed like that, recognizing this new wound, a mental one, rippling inside of them, this sadness, this sorrow, this condemned notice of loss about to come, and Munchie couldn't even start to conceive how this might work, but he understood whatever was coming would hurt. It would hurt a lot. A hurt that... that neither of them wanted, actually. Ashley didn't want to feel that ache, either. As the fiery soul spluttered in his hands, quietly mumbling to him repeatedly that she didn't want to go, she didn't want him to go, she didn't like this but she had to, it was for the best—he couldn't see how it was for the best, but perhaps it was somehow. He wanted this girl... to stop being unhappy, but he felt it too, that unhappiness, that notice of... loss. Of loss. She quieted as she sort of... cuddled into him, was it? Yeah—it... it was. Plowing breath by breath, yeah, it was, it was. Nice, it was. Yeah... it was. Accepting this, seeing this, calming as a melancholic trill pulsated within him, Munchie patted at Ashley's head like he'd been wanting to do, and it was nice, like he'd thought it would be. He patted at the warm spirit's shaking, bobbling, tear-stricken face and slightly—more so accidentally—wiped away the spots of cool, wet stains of pain.

They—they still had a job to do. They still had a Dusknoir to stop... and a world to save, and all of that stuff. Munchie didn't quite understand what ailed the chimchar so horridly, and it sickened him to see her wallowing with her distress, but there... wasn't much more he could do. He'd stand by her side forever and ever, he was sure, even if arguments would fetter between them at points: it'd be fine... What mattered were those collections of colorful moments he'd shared with that girl as was. And here he was, now, with her anyways. She seemed to calm from what cold pain lay inside of her, so Munchie helped her to her feet as her hands stretched to the ground as they always did, and she nodded to him, more to strengthen herself, he saw. Ashley did stop shaking. Influence had meandered off somewhere, but it didn't take long to recognize the long, billowing leaf attached to him.

Seemingly upset about something, perhaps what'd gone on, what was still sucking things up inside of her, Ashley coarsely yelled some scattered words at him, and he grumbled back, and quiet acceptance, soft acquiesce, seeped through. They would ask around to the villagers of Treasure Town, they would use their word to find Dusknoir, they would thus stop him, they would be done with this mess. All they could do, all they could do. Munchie didn't even bother shaking himself, instead staring through his dark eyes, struggling with his own catharsis, too. They must have been similar. Oh well, he tried to reason, time to go find Dusknoir and beat him, let's go. Some spirits lifted, but most sagged, and the ones that had came up went back down and crushed. Munchie focused on his breathing again as he wandered on, after Ashley, after Influence, as the fog grew grayer and smokier about him, seeming to suck him into its midst and force reason out the window. The Foggy Forest descended in every which way until all Munchie could pick out were the creatures directly in front of him, and every once in awhile, a tree: after he rammed into it. The methodical hits and turns in his step helped keep his poor, old, tired, twisted soul up and running, even after what Ashley had hinted at, whatever it may be.

At first, kind of because he was stupid, mostly because he was too tired and too much of an emotional dishrag to care, Munchie didn't quite catch on as the fog grew a little more denser, darker, heavier. He felt like he was choking on a pack of clouds, only to screw his mouth up tight and let his pair of crooked teeth that always showed to show for it, as they always did. Munchie could only go on, blinking out the empty grayness of it all and move. He'd been moving, he had to keep moving. Considering the following: how he'd come from the bumbling fool everyone wanted to stop taking up precious space to a hero, the only one from the present, on the cusp of saving or ending the world, saving the future, really, from the present and fixing to save such future. It was... a lot to take in, actually. He blinked slowly as he saw just how far his journey had come, but how much closer he just might have been... to finishing it. Whether or not Ashley planned to be there—his journey could be close to closing soon. His... role in this strange world, strange life... he just walked aimlessly, struggling to trudge after the chimchar and the grovyle while his feet gave through and his head pounded. It was hard when all he was thinking about had to do with fate, with losing those in front of him... and this sludge he had to continue going on through.

Why was the fog so hard to break past, anyways? Were fogs always this cold and limpid or whatever? Munchie felt a little secure in that single thought, in the least. Fog wasn't this hard to cut through. It was nigh solid, like muddy water the color of stone had replaced the fog. Funny, too, because it didn't swirl or anything, just stuck around like a gel and swamped and stayed and... Something suddenly felt very wrong in Munchie's heart, so he glanced back and nearly fainted when he couldn't find his shadow. Just—j-just like last time, it wasn't there. Just like back at the good old Waterfall Cave, his beloved Mystery Dungeon—oh what a long way he's come—it was... ominous and dark and then suddenly oh hey look it was his shadow. Until his vision was overtaken by a large, strawberry red eye. Then things got a little scary.

The stomach went from wriggling to seam open and rip and suck at the air, swipe at him, until fiery fingers plunged and pulled him back and screeched primal, dirty cries out at the guy who snickered softly and cooed—yeah, he did, he cooed—at the girl, at his... his daughter. And smirked and the vortex picked up, only it wasn't blustering everywhere, but honing in on one particular spot: him. Oh... oh no, Mister Scary Dusknoir had found... he'd... He was gonna take Munchie up and he was whispering ugly words with his ugly, strange voice that Munchie couldn't quite understand. His heart flipped in circles, his stomach did a belly flop, his scruffy, angular ears bent back, and the wind howled at him, cried at him, sobbed at him, screeched straight through him. Influence grumbled a few things and was keen to help the munchlax, but trod back continuously like if he came too much closer he'd get lost. Munchie saw the ghostly-pale hand stuck to his foot and understood why he hadn't gone in yet.

Listening tenderly, he found enough eavesdropper information: Dusknoir had... a-apparently... found a weak spot in his daughter, something he could use... to get her to stop trying to save the world and give him the location of the last time gear. He wouldn't say anything else, didn't spill information on Jordan or anything else, just that horrid question and gentle—sickening—whisper repeated, repeated, _tell me, Ashley, where is the time gear—where is it, Daughter—where is it, dear?_ It ate at him. Just drop, let him go, he pleaded silently, Ashley, don't be like a guild member and get all attached to him, just let him fall to the future again. He couldn't believe he wanted to go back there, but if it saved the screwed future, and if it saved her and made her happy, then sure why not. Was... was this the moment that Ashley was terrified of?

She continued screeching in hotheaded anger. No, she didn't sound or look all that prepared. And Influence continued his tender stepping, trying to grapple Munchie without killing himself or honestly anyone else. How strangely kind of him. They... wanted to hang onto him. They wanted him to hang around. This was... the last thing they'd expected or cared for, and oh, it ate at him. It... ate at them, too. The wound had reopened, he saw, and Ashley was sobbing again, her hands first frenzied at the ghastly father, then clutching at her ears—or where they should have been, for the missing one, as she screamed bloody hate and awful words he still hated to use, much less think of.

 _You can't have him, bitch, you can't have him._

 _Ohhhh, but, Daauughterrr? I already do. Oh I do. Ooh-ooh~ Tell me, Daughter, do you want him back or does he fall? Does he fall, dear girl? I'll drop him if you don't tell me, you know I will._

 _STOP IT, DAMMIT! PLEASE! YOU BITCH! LET GO OF HIM!_

 _And but noooooo~_

 _GET AWAY FROM MUNCHIE!_ Other words fell through as those landed, but Munchie couldn't catch them as their meanings slipped from his grasp and spiraled into incoherent clumps never to be uttered again. He sighed at that. A whorl of air nearly choked him.

 _Tell me, and I will. I'll start counting down. You know how I do it._

 _Let go... of him... P-please... You've—you call me your daughter, but you sure as hell don't act like a fucking dad. If you were a damn father, you'd stop this shit. You'd understand. Something, dammit. Something._

 _Yeah but the future is so much better with the fairness it brings, and its perfect tones and values and love—_

 _LET ME SAY. I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK LOVE IS AND THAT WAS NOT IT, YOU ASSHOLE._

 _Geez, Daughter. Fine. I'll count from... mm... the colors of the future. From our home. And after I'm done, I'll let the boy here in my paw hand fall to a loss in this future you so desire to save him from. Okay? Okay, great, sweetie! Hm... which colors are there? Oh, yes, that's right! There's one! Say it with me: gr—_

 _IT'S IN THE FUCKING WATERFALL CAVE NOW LET GO OF HIM... right now... Right now, Mister..._

And surprisingly, he did. Munchie slammed into a ground that had lost its texture rather painfully, and he shook himself and stood ever the slowly. Words swam in his head and connected with a silly, farfetched, airy, ugly accent. "Why thank you. I believe I'll go collect that now so that I can set the present into motion on the right path. So that fiiiiinnally, this forsaken foggy forest can lose its fog or whatever and drop the act. It's only so stiff from my presence. What I reaaally need is that last time gear. So thaaaaaank you, Daughter." The hand didn't leave his back until a crackle sounded in his ears and he felt that the cold, dark, blustery presence of Dusknoir had gone. Wouldn't come back until later, after he'd obtained the final time gear and would begin his final countdown, the true ending of... of life as everyone knew it. No... sun. No sunsets. No ability to die or lose oneself from the darkness. N-no... no color. No texture. No voice, heck, no _shadows._ No... love. No true emotions, so honed and needed. All because Ashley couldn't bear... to see him be locked into the future, where everything was just like that. She truly—she truly didn't want him there, and she apparently felt... really strongly about him, about not letting that ever happen. W-wow.

To prove that wasn't happening again, and she felt a need to keep her word, Ashley's long fingers wove through Munchie's fur and dug into his arm, her head against him and her stance giving off the impression that she wasn't letting go easily. Funny, how he'd never seen her act that way to Influence—and yet... he didn't know what to say. He just... didn't know what to say. How to describe what was going on with him. Well, he figured it out, as he stumbled along with the chimchar clinging tightly to him that he could hardly stand and he shivered, shuddered, like he was tossing away layers of self-consciousness as he shivered and Ashley warmed him with just herself against him, with him. Influence must have been somewhere behind. The scrawny munchlax could hardly believe how much more he thought of the guy now. Like he wasn't... too bad, or something ridiculous like that. Unable to question it at the moment, Munchie deliberated that focusing on the warmth penetrating into his soul from Ashley's entity resting against him and assisting him in actual movement, that was the way to go. Keep his attention span locked onto her, because she... she did mean a lot to him, and he preferred that very much. He... did. Munchie did. He didn't know what was going on with him anymore and felt like he'd been walking in a strange haze since he woke up from Jalendalynne's home, but he knew that.

The grovyle meandering ahead didn't catch onto however the munchlax felt, however the chimchar felt. Perhaps, Munchie sought... perhaps he... couldn't? He didn't see how much more Ashley could, but apparently it was something, a something he'd gladly swipe thank you very much. And he clung onto her, and she clung onto him, and odd as it was, that warmed his heart. Just... being able to hang onto the dear, fire-colored girl like that, know she was practically in his arms, know he had her... right there... he had no idea what kinds of words were supposed to be used right then, but it was nice, if nothing else. It was nice.

His mind idly spiraling in and out of orbit, trying to recollect the fact that Ashley was clinging onto him like letting go of Munchie had become a sin, he barely had the ability to notice what the heck Influence over there was doing. He wasn't just loitering around or spinning in circles. But he was up to something, surely. Influence was stupid—to Munchie and Munchie alone—but he wasn't _that_ stupid. Well... unless he was. Munchie toyed with that notion for a motion although, like an upset child, eventually scurried to a corner of his mind and dropped the thought as if dropping a doll he'd stolen from the little sister he'd always wanted but never got and seriously would never steal from in the first place. It was a metaphor. Metaphors did what they wanted to do. If he ever did have that adorable, chubby, little sister... that'd make him kind of sort of really happy. No: he liked Ashley a whole lot, but he didn't see her like that. Like sibling. Like... he wasn't sure what, and questioning it seemed like it'd be long and harrowing of a journey and he didn't even know if she'd last that long by the fear quavering in her that'd practically frozen her up. At least she chose such freezing to happen by... by his side, of all sides to freeze up to. He liked that—he liked that a lot. Munchie smiled like a dopey idiot for some time there, simply overjoyed by the sudden reasoning that Ashley must like him a lot, which of course had taken him some idiot reasoning before he understood it, which was sad on his part. Munchie may be growing in some sadder places, but all in all he was still himself.

Then the scrawl of Influence's scrabbling voice changed that. "Come on—I hear whispering. It sounds like... children. I have no idea what the hell we should do, no idea what the fuck we're getting into, but children sounds like a good start." Munchie felt like idly pointing out that unlike him, Influence did know what to do, as did Ashley, but he didn't because the guy semi freaked him out. "Come on, come on. We need all the help we can get. Ashley's frozen up, you're just as useless as you usually are, though that could be a slight fault on my part—" He lost his voice to a hankering cough that wracked far out of his last words. The rasp hesitantly seeped into tone again, deeper than last time. "Still. Children. They're a something." And that was that, when it came to Influence. Apparently all he needed to do was hear the voices of squeaky, high-pitched children and he'd be okay or something. Munchie didn't know, man. He didn't understand Influence. No, no, no. But if children he wanted, it seemed: children he'd get. That sounded so creepy. _Why did it sound so creepy._

Completely putting his faith into a creepy, green creature whose body was built by plant material—that made him sound a little worse—and... and his eyes were such a strange, gleaming yellow—he could go on for days—well, Munchie followed him like some children do when they see a kidnapper, which made him feel blind, but he wasn't truly alone. After Ashley seemed nigh frozen in her ways, Munchie'd scooped her up and now she rested in his arms and it seemed to help her. He hoped. Oh, maybe. The desperation pumping from his soul gave way to startling fear as the events that'd just gone on blared cold through his head like an ugly song, and it was repeating, slinking through him, shocking and choking up his movements until he only felt stronger about how unsettling it was, following not Ashley and Influence and somewhat himself but completely thrusting his trust unto that latter one—not him but the strange, leafy grovyle—with the eyes. Still, the one that had almost become the last thing he'd ever see in color, that terrifying strawberry orb, seeped through his vision like blood and surely struck a chord somewhere in him, one that wasn't meant to be pressed.

As he sauntered on, Munchie began realizing how easily he put his faith into others that were never himself since he couldn't trust himself with anything and grew at ease scrabbling past Influence and occasionally stubbing his toe on a tree root or another. But the fog was lifting, color had already vividly painted enough scenes Munchie felt assured they hadn't gone through the first step of a lost present yet—only the present could save the future; he sucked in a breath and lived it—and... squeaky voices flourished, drew him in. He heard them. He heard the children. And after hearing what they had to say, he wasn't sure he was so keen on hearing them that much longer. He missed the safety he'd felt at Jalendalynne's home—now he realized that was the cushioning quietness of it all—and couldn't help but wonder what her family was like and why it didn't matter that they'd know about him but never see him and his buddies, but how he felt now... that was nice too. Not the children though. His attention turned back to them: not the children.

"Ruuuuuuuuu-benity! Come on, ol' chap, ho! Our cult is gathering, and you need to start listing names or we'll never get this done!" That was the first thing he heard that made coherent sense. It was a deep, smacking tone of an older child. Munchie was past his childhood stages, as was Influence, as was Ashley, and this kid seemed... nigh there. Puberty must have struck him in the middle of some night or another because that tone's deepness rivaled—it—it rivaled... Through a sudden sniffle, he noted that it rivaled Byrender, and now he missed his friends a whole lot more. "Rubenity!"

"Coming, siiiire~" That was the next-in-command. Like Chindu and Spirit, but they probably weren't gay. Probably. He wouldn't assure anything. But this kid had to be younger. They both held the distinct tones of males. "Soooo, everyone—name orderrrrrr~!"

And the kids started screeching out their names, seemingly in some important fashion they held dearly to their ways, almost like strange, tribal pokemon. He shuddered some.

"Majestic!" Leader guy. Huh, that name sounded familiar.  
"Rubenity!" Other kid, right.  
"Sarshonue!" That had to be a girl. Had to be. He'd bet his berries that one was a girl.  
"Denden!" Another girl.  
"Linderescent!" Why were these names so weird? He only knew it was a guy by the semi-low squeakiness.

Other names must have followed, but there were less and they were duller. Those first few kids seemed like the leaders, of sort, of this occult. He felt like he'd heard that somewhere and it was incredibly—unbearably—unanimously—ultimately—important. But he still couldn't figure out why. Majestic felt familiar... he reigned over an occult... didn't strike out yet. Maybe if he kept eavesdropping in on the kids—hey, he could do a pretty mean eavesdrop—he'd figure out why. Influence kept his golden gaze glittering upon him, letting him know that yes, that was what he was supposed to do here, he remembered Munchie's awkward talent—yep, he was referring to it as a talent—and he expected him to use it. Munchie quickly whispered over to him, "They call themselves an occult. The kid leader's name is Majestic." Ashley mumbled words that sounded like she was remembering something important too but couldn't put her finger on it. Flaming orbs peeped out and held strong to Munchie's. He felt like the soft, light blue so faintly lingering, rimming those dark orbs was really popping out now.

Kid leader Majestic's deep, almost silly tone rang out some more. "Our plan of order today is the matter of why pokemon don't recognize us, let alone me!" He was important. Oh, oh oh, was he important. The words lurched out at him. "We need to find a way to make everyone notice us, okay! We have to! We're important! Our occult has to take over all of home and show everyone that we're tough and we can stop anything we don't like!"

"Like the vegetable carts!" called some kid.

"YEAH!" Everyone really seemed to like the idea of getting rid of vegetable carts. Munchie felt insulted. Vegetables were nature's greens, man, and they didn't hurt anyone. In fact, they made others healthy, for crying out loud, healthy. Made them better. These mental kids needed some broccoli to clean out their heads. He sighed to himself. Influence asked; Munchie answered hollowly that the kids didn't like broccoli. Influence didn't know what—in his context, remember, because Munchie didn't like these words but he used them for Influence—the _fuck_ a broccoli was. He said it sounded like some disease. If Munchie had an inkling of Ashley's spirit, he would have spat at him.

The Majestic kid went on. "We've all heard those rumors from my little sister about this monster and his rogue fiends attacking our beloved Mystery Dungeons, and that's not cool, man! They're awesome, and he's gonna make everything colorblind or something as terrible as that, and we need to do something about it! Come on, my friends! Let's go back to the kingdom and use all our begging skills and reasoning on my dad again and try to get him to understand that we have to go out there and save everyone!" Oh gosh this was Mystic's brother. He saw it. He saw it. He'd said stuff about the throne, he was ridiculously ready to go out and fight evil Dusknoir and whatever else he might have had up his sleeve—other rogues and monsters? Eek. Yuck. No. They were bumbling fools that seemed to do this regularly. Thank gosh the king seemed reasonable enough. He knew what he was doing. Admittedly, Munchie must have been worse of when he was—he couldn't believe he was saying this—Mystic's brother's age—Mystic's brother oh dear gosh. Still. He stared at that kid through the foliage and wondered, catching the sleek, blue skin of an amphibian, the chubby orange cheeks, his long, dark fins cascading over his eyes like a bad boy, and his twin tails of similar coloring smacking the ground with childish confidence. Majestic, Mystic's brother that was into occults. And by the sound of it, this had to be the most cheerful one he'd ever sponsored. Oh... oh geez.

Still, occults. Why occults. Why? Why, man, out of anything: why occults? He was the prince and he did occults. What kind of a world did they live in.

Oh, it sunk in. The prince of Fyshyngtyn. He hadn't seen his friends of the guild in ages, but did they save Jordan: wouldn't they be safest hiding out here, maybe even being able to somehow help out? That would explain how well-rehearsed this crazy kid was on Dusknoir and bad things. Of course, being a civilization living in Mystery Dungeons, as all but Treasure Town did, that huge, overpopulated place he used to live in, they understood the direness of the situation and already did love their Mystery Dungeons and heck no did they want to lose them. It seemed they already saw that to lose this would be to lose... everything. They technically would go colorblind: but in reality, everything would lose its texture. Color. Whatever. And apparently, according to his futuristic buddies, that was... only the beginning. He'd seen some pretty strange sights in the future that one time, but he'd stuck to a strangely light path that helped them out and actually seemed nice. How something like that could seem nice he didn't know, but it did, and it was.

He shook himself, and out came... he couldn't believe it, but a plan, his own, actual, true plan.: "We go with them to the kingdom. We have to find the guild members, and as Ashley recovers, we'll figure out what we have to do... and we'll go." Faintly, he recalled her telling him that giving Dusknoir all of the time gears would have made saving the world all the harder, but he... he was kind of really strong and scary, and, as he thought about it, their plan to go and surprise attack someone they couldn't even find wasn't the best thing ever, technically. And Dusknoir: all he had to do was swoop over, dangle Munchie just above his ripped-open stomach, and wait for his daughter to scream of mercy. Meanie. He was a big meanie. Munchie didn't like to scrutinize and call others names since he'd grown up assuming everyone called him those and him alone, but gosh, that guy was mean. Whatever the future was like, Munchie felt somewhat... nice... to know Ashley so desperately wanted to protect him from it that she'd sacrifice the easy way out to do it. Things were... going to get harder, for the small trio. But she'd rather have... have him, with her, than easily do the one thing she'd been needing to solve since the start.

He must have meant a lot to her. Kind of like how much she... she... uh... meant to him. Munchie stared down at those unwavering, flaming orbs as they seemed to watch over him, even though she was the weaker one, and she was the one that was too drained to even stand on her own. The munchlax she so adored raised one of his hands to trace over the ear she had left and cup her face, try to... he didn't know, protect it or something. Whatever: either way, it just... felt right. She protected him all the time; he could only hope she felt the same about him. Influence, letting the offer Munchie had sit for a moment, slowly cleared his green-skinned throat and pointed one of his squishy fingers out at where the kids where sitting, doing their occult crud that Munchie didn't really feel so comfortable around. But it seemed they had no other choice, so with a ceremonious flourish, the skinny, scruffy, navy-blue to sandy-pale munchlax stepped out of the grasses and into a clearing set just before an harbor that led out further, stretching to a shining sea of archipelago and waves and so much bright, orange sunshine. The huddle of pokemon dazedly squawking at one another hushed as their gazes turned to their newcomers.

Majestic, occultist marshtomp prince guy, turned his head and squealed. "That's... those are the guys my sister were talking about..!" Having a deep tone made it hard for him to sound excited, but those pubescent eyes lit right up at the sight of Munchie, Ashley in his arms and Influence scowling as usual from the back. "We right now need to get these suckers to my dad. If he sees these guys, maybe we can go out and stop Dusknoir with them." Munchie shuddered with that; nobody noticed. Around Majestic sat the other children. He couldn't pinpoint names to faces because they all could have honestly been anyone, but the ones closest to him looked like his friends that he'd heard of best: there was a green-faced bug with split wings, a yamna; and a slick-white face with a strong, muscular, wet body, the sealeo; and a tiny little thing with a pink body and slime rattling upon it, a shellos; and other colors, other feathers, other scales and creatures, though most looked particularly comfortable in this sort of beach climate. Quietly, Munchie recalled that down further south of the Beach Cave and Treasure Town, taking a steep right, on the map there was a kingdom, a civilization, labeled Fyshyngtyn. And here he was, in that same spot on that map. Would Chindu be proud of him? Munchie shrugged to himself and shook out his face.

"Rubenity, we'd better get these guys to my dad. They look important. That one murderess lady said she'd sock us if we find them and don't tell her. And she looked mighty serious, man. I don't wanna get skewered."

"Mm? Oh. Sure~" And it was revealed that the slick little sealeo was Rubenity. "Yeaaahhh, we'd better~ Your sister and everyone else in that weird bunch looked kinda worried too. I think the floaty green thing was crying some." Munchie didn't realize just how few pokemon knew what Drynt was, but it seemed he'd been... c-crying... again. Munchie's heart swooned and he nearly choked on it. "C'mon, guys. Sheldon, I know how much you want us to get rid of the vegetable carts, and how much we want to, and we will, I assure you, but right now the big thing is getting these important folks over to the castle before anything else. Mmmmkay~?" He had no idea a pubescent little sealeo could get everyone to listen that well. It was like a miracle or something. Occults were magical things, just like the sun, the moon, and Mystery Dungeons. Perhaps not as magical, but how they all listened and worked in sync, this little bundle of characters, it was enough to make a grown, evil Dusknoir cry. Unless that dusknoir was Ashley's dad. He had issues.

Calmly, in such a fashion Munchie could hardly believe, he and his—okay, he'd say it—friends—yes, plural: friend _s—_ followed along after the troop of children and their occultism and all of that occult stuff through the streamers of orange sunlight that splayed out forever, past boardwalks, over sandy areas and through blankets hanging from lines through the air, by planks of homes with fabric roofs and sometimes walls, with gentle waves sparkling with dazzling orange and blue hues so perfectly aligned: dang, were Mystery Dungeons... impressive. Amazing. Okay, spectacular. He never thought he'd see something so _spectacular_. Spectacular as Fyshyngtyn. With their jolly fellows and boats and boardwalks and archipelago of lively islands and the warmth and the sunniness and the beach and the sea shells and the beauty, oh, the endless, rolling beauty just roiling throughout the days in gentle breezes and huggable sunshine and simply lovely homes. So simple, so stellar, so nice. Shards of warmth plucked at Munchie's soul. When his head turned to the sides, little iridescent lilies with perfect pink petals sat on green pads and danced in the air, in the sea, on the sands. Dang, Munchie liked this place. Oh yes he did.

The fabrics of pinks and blues and yellows and all bright, happy colors soared up high and melded with the sandstone steps building up to the sandstone blocks crafted into a great sand castle reigning over all. The towers decorated in those fabrics and streamers, sea shells and lilies studding the authoritative presence calmly taking in glory, so glorifying, so wonderful, everything fit together. Everything simply fit together. He'd seen it before in all of the Mystery Dungeons: but this truly proved it. They needed this part of their lives to stay. The population of Treasure Town—which boomed much higher, crowded ranks than Fyshyngtyn, which was mostly rural and at sleepy peace—never saw this joy and they never wanted it. What a shame... Because Munchie found himself radiating with joy that he was there, in the moment. Ashley even stirred and as they scaled the lovely, smooth-but-rough steps to the palace doors, that was the moment she leaped from his arms and began moving on her own, first taking a few hard stumbles but eventually growing used to momentum again.

With the children, Munchie and friends must have looked like a colorful mob, comparing to how little the pokemon did such clumps of others. Must have been why Majestic and his little buddies met up just outside of the kingdom. Without much regard for anything, the marshtomp occultist in questioning stepped up pridefully to the doors of such palace and took the fabric loop and violently yanked at it, where it surprisingly pulled open doors in ease. Munchie grew starstruck by all of this beautiful fantasy bountifully cascading upon him, what with the orange shine and the seashells and the lilies and then those fabrics, plus the engravings upon the walls, and it took him many extra moments to gain his bearings and scramble past the windows outlining the entrance hall, up some stairs, down some more, through a long hallway, and landing on red carpeting that led up to shell-sculpted thrones, each happening to have their respective leaders sitting on them. Well, no. They both shared a throne. One was the size of Mystic—a tiny, cute, feminine-appearing mudkip who sat and rested beside her fellow king, who happened to be this great, glorious sea mammal with his blue-finned head held high, his pairs of fins in poised position. The shell on his back gleamed and caught Munchie's attention, and he realized the king guy was a regal—very regal—lapras.

Oh dang.

He and the queen sat together and looked pretty chill—and honestly kind of adorable, he couldn't help it—sharing the king's throne, and it looked like they always sat together when there. "Son, what's up?" murmured the king. He had a sun-patched voice that was soft but also held an air of nobility which nobody threatened past. It took his breath away. "I see you and your friends are back. Do you want to discriminate mammals, eliminate the vegetable carts, or fight Dusknoir this time around—ah." His wise, blue orbs socked Munchie hard. "Who may this be that you've brought in? Should I be... recognizing him this swell?"

"Yeah, Dad! That girl, you know, the scary one that's Mystic's like best friend, she mentioned this guy and his buddy a lot, didn't she?" But really, what freaked the munchlax out was how much the king lapras guy seemed interested in not Influence, not Ashley—but him. His eyes never left Munchie. Not once. He didn't know what to say all over again. "So like what should we do with him?"

The king then nodded slowly to himself, seeming to take his time. "Your mother and I were awaiting a message from the prophet prior, as you can plainly tell, pray tell why we're sitting so attentive, which is when we usually expect your little... gang... to show. I'm happy to see you've chosen a smaller, more lively bunch of kids, but pray don't break them to scoundrels." He shifted in atmosphere. "Anyhow, it appears we have more fine business than messages, so we will call up your sister and her guests and let them reunite with these... friends of theirs. Pray tell they will find a way to stop this ending world, as we've heard of it, from happening." He... seemed to believe them, but also had a hesitant stance like he wasn't going into submission or letting full trust fall from him.

Like this was what usually happened and he was cool with it, Majestic excitedly nodded, tossed a few cheery words behind his back, and abruptly ran back out of the hall he'd just come from, his gang of buddies following behind. He probably did that a lot. His dad knew pretty well what the heck went on in that kid's mind all the time.

"Aye. Munchie." And then he was on the hot seat again and it was really uncomfortable. "As we wait, I should have the dignity to introduce myself." He adjusted just the slightest and suddenly the room's tension felt flushed out and done. "They call me King Antonium." Eying his dear wife, deciding she looked pretty tired and asleep, he went on. "And this is Queen Suddiu. I was heir to the throne, as my father and mother were both pokemon of my same origin, but it seems the tide turned after I fell in love. And now both of my children are part of her species. Though of course I could never mind. She's been particularly tired after looking over sets of preparations for our guests, your friends..." Then his gaze moved from Munchie to the mudkip curled up beside him, sound asleep. The orbs has gone gentle under sight of her. "She's a sweet little thing," he murmured contentedly to himself. Munchie could tell there were lots of emotions bouncing around right then and there and his face exploded in color.

Maybe King Antonium kept staring at him because he didn't know what was up with creepy Influence, but could tell he was from... somewhere not so great—the future—and... perhaps there was still the futuristic dust on Ashley. Or something. Or maybe because Munchie was the emotional one and his own gaze kept lonesomely looking for the chimchar somewhere to his side that was always... always by his side, no matter what. He trusted her.

A guard was signaled—water type pokemon, as most were, this one some poor flightless bird called empoleon—and their friends were drawn in. Sure enough, the floating elgyem with his emerald sheen, Drynt, he collapsed from tears on the ground and hugged Munchie and hugged Ashley and oh gosh he had such a strange, weak grip and nobody wanted to move him until Byrender's warm, caramel colored self came stomping on in and his deep, affectionate tone, so jazzy and so great, came booming through and he was scooping everyone up and hugging them and Influence looked ready to pop a brain vessel because of that guy and Jordan shoved him past, her long, turquoise hair swooning with the wind and her eyes covered still but stains of tears sank down through—oh phew she was okay stupid Dusknoir—and she hugged and apologized a lot but everyone was all like dude it's okay then on sauntering fell the swanky Mystic, so sparkly and shouting and squealing as she struggled in and everyone was hugging and Spirit the great white wigglytuff heard all the commotion and was like what's going on because he was stupid and didn't realize that everyone had arrived—he'd been... busy with Chindu—and then Chindu came too and everyone was pretty sure they kissed in public at one point because of all the joy and everything and it was great and everyone was happy and Chindu didn't even start spluttering.

Ashley, fully recovered, struggled to let it out. She told them about Dusknoir and that he nigh _took Munchie away from her and she wasn't gonna ever fucking have that_ and directly said that plus _Munchie was hers, stupids_ until he was feeling lightheaded and woozy, then she let it out that there was a harder path she and Munchie would have to take and drag Influence into. She stopped, though, and let their friends go, and they heard of how they asked around Treasure Town and found Dusknoir and he might have been about to do something bad, they didn't know because Spirit screeched something gay at the top of his lungs and distracted that fat idiot enough to save Jordan—everyone knew they'd save Jordan over the world—and they ran and they found a safe place to hide via Mystic, who was still very proud of herself.

Then there was nothing left to do but set a plan. Ashley explained a couple things, let them know about the future and all that—she quickly brushed over those things plus Influence but everyone was pretty cool with it because the guild was full of pokemon that were awesome like that. Once it was established that _the future was hell_ and _she'd come to fix it, they had to fix it together,_ everyone got down to business. Jordan, having nearly gone through a few things she wasn't about to have happen to her, knew that Treasure Town and a couple of other places were starting to be filled with strange pokemon that apparently were like ghost types or something—who knew there was a ghost type? Or this... they called it like a dark type? That too? Who knew? Crazy. But once it was secure those creatures had begun taking over and seemed ready to devour all, you know, evil stuff, let things drown in shadows... be taken over by stuff Ashley didn't wanna talk about, the guild decided that yeah, they should probably go check that out, and yeah, a smaller group would be better for the task Ashley had at hand.

So they would see their friends go out and chase away some darkness.

On the other hand, Munchie was going to be on Ashley's team, and she and Influence—as they were from the future and knew these things—and he, himself, would have to go to the spoke, the direct middle of Zundentun, and... she said _shit was gonna go down._ He didn't ask her what that meant, and she didn't look like she wanted to talk about it all that much. By the looks of their situation, Dusknoir had already gotten every time gear and must have—she said it thinly—gotten ready to... eat them. But he'd wait until everyone was screwed in some fashion before he destroyed the time gears once and for all.

If that was what it was like to have a dad, Munchie felt pretty happy he had characters other than a dad to love.

With the main details secured, a plan to adjourn their case and then take off secured, with everything hanging on the line because there was nothing else they could do, his dear chimchar raised her flaming orbs, nodded once to the king in front of them, and said, "Well... let's not let ourselves get fucked of your home."

"Good plan." Spirit nodded.

"Let's do this..." Chindu sucked in a breath and the wigglytuff smirked, his green eyes flashing, as he bent over and kissed the black-feathered bird right on the head. That evoked quite a reaction.

But as it settled, fear took in. As did the need to wet himself. As did a lot of scary things Munchie wasn't sure about. But this was all they had, and Ashley—she was keen on stopping her dad from letting this happen.

It inspired him. It inspired everyone.

She just shrugged.

"Let's get this shit over with."

 **Me: Aaaahhh... that chapter was aaaallmost 14k. But it's not.**

 **Ashley: -snorts-**

 **Me: Well, I got everything. You guys have to set out and stop Daddy Dusknoir the weirdo. Our friends the guild will try to keep some darkness at bay. Who knows, even Fyshyngtyn might be up to something. YAY GOOD GUYS.**

 **Ashley: BUT THERE'S SO MANY BITCHES OUT TO KILL US AND IT MAKES ME SAD.**

 **Munchie: ;_;**

 **Me: Well... The story is nearing a close. :3 Sorry I forgot to warn you I was taking off on a two-week summer camp thing! xwx But hey, here's chapter eight. ;3 Let's hope nobody dies.**

 **Ashley: -coughs- And welcome to a world where the present can change the future.**

 **Me: I already said that.**

 **Ashley: you did?  
**

 **Me: yeah. Chapter one.**

 **Ashley: aw fuck**


	9. Scenarios Sure to Make you Sad Cry

**Munchie: Starry, what happens to Ashley after we save the world?  
**

 **Me: ewe I never said you do save the world. What if I kill everyone off first.**

 **Munchie: … y-yeah... but, like... if we live and save the world—wh-what happens to her after? -looks really, genuinely concerned-**

 **Me: awwwwwwwww ;w; Well—**

 **Ashley: HEY DON'T TELL HIM YOU BITCH**

 **Me: … o^o yesma'am**

 **Munchie: owo**

 **Ashley: ...I'll... tellhimeventually... maybe...**

 **Munchie: wi-will you stay with me..?  
**

 **Ashley: … Iwantto—iMEAN HEY STARRY WHAT'S THE NAME OF THE CHAPTER START WRITING ALREADY GEEZ owo;;**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Nine: Scenarios Sure to Make you Sad Cry

Reality set in and seized his shoulders once their meager group set foot on the first patch of whispering, cool grass. Grass, for crying out loud. Bright green bunches of hair sticking out of the head called earth: grass. Munchie even had a few set reasons on why he was so excited to see said grass, and why it had become so important to him. In one glance, it was simplistic, green shrubbery that mushed around underneath his feet with the emit of odd, crunching noises, but it sprung with one's step and usually associated flowers in its tangled mix. In another, it was color. It was texture. It was feel. It was life, and at the moment, life wasn't looking as happy as those fronds of grass. Nope. Life was kind of scary, actually. Kind of really scary. Really... really scary. Like a lot of it. A lot of scary.

Itching his returned blue-shaded head that felt scruffy to the touch instead of listless, dull nothing, Munchie blinked his dark-and-light orbs that now held their own set of blues, which were different than his fur, and it weirdly felt great to blink them repeatedly. Were they supposed to itch this badly after being without value change for some time? Sure, it hadn't been that long, but they still messed with him. His own eyes were rebelling. Oh, Munchie, you sad, sad scoundrel. Snorting at that, he glanced over and—yep—found the girl and the boy he expected to find sauntering on up to him, their own colors returning as they moved onward. Neither of them had a very dashing step, but still he found their presences required and... somewhat charming anyways? That was kinda sad. The pokemon on their own were pretty sad in their walk—why was Munchie even commemorating this in the first place? Why was he getting so into his partners' walks? Why did it matter? No wait, it didn't. Nope. Right. Didn't. He tried to stop thinking about how cute Ashley's hobble was and anything like that for the time being, watching her bipedal form, hands and feet each sifting into the soil and grass, come up, orange fur shimmering with vivid colors once more, where they belonged, and the flame on her tail and the ones in her eyes setting to sparks again. Pretty, he would have said, like he'd once called clouds.

Back before he knew her. Back before he knew her or the deranged tree next to her: sorry, it'd kind of become an inside joke to him. So ol' tree hobbled up alongside Ashley, his long-necked head held high and green skin filling with depth and squish. He couldn't help it that his plant-like skin was so squishy. The long, dark leaf draping from his head to the small in his back flipped with his face, and his eyes glittered harmlessly. As somewhat scary as the lanky biped looked, the only really disturbing thing about him was his red belly and that same color winding up to his neck, flickering like a tongue. It was morbid to him. To Munchie, that was. He didn't think Influence would find himself very morbid. Well, maybe. Munchie used to call his own self a disease, so it was readily possible. Though the grovyle in question really didn't look like the type to drop everything and insult himself. He was kind of mellow, pretty raspy, didn't care much about a lot of things, never hoisted a strong opinion. Gosh, why were all of Munchie's friends—even including himself—so drastically different? He'd never known how truly different every soul was until he started getting to know them. But... there were always similarities hidden in there, too. He had to remember that or he'd go insane or something.

Watching over his friends, Munchie quietly thought about the past. Only bits and pieces came shooting, though they strung quite well as one and outfitted the main outline of what he'd gone through relatively smooth enough. Buttoning up notions, he recalled back when he knew no one and wandered like a sad hobo which he practically was, only finding joy in the sunset, until he met Ashley who wanted to see the guild for reasons he didn't know yet, and then he knew Ashley and the guild, which led to meeting her mate and her dad and somehow included a pichu into the mix that was pretty soft and quiet, and then he saw the horrors of the future from that dad and heard from the grovyle and Ashley and a lot more junk happened that led to him becoming a... a... Spit it out, he reprimanded himself, you deserve it. He was becoming a—a—a hero. The word clicked in place, chiming a hollow sound, and truth was proven. He... practically had consecrated the path of a hero, in a way. He was saving the world and everything, for crying out loud. It felt weird, to think he'd gone from a disease to an upcoming good guy or something dumb and irrational like that, but supposedly that was that. Supposedly, that was that. He quietly applauded himself, feeling like an idiot.

Seriously, Munchie, had it been that long since he was still in the marvelous interior of Fyshyngtyn Palace with the great lapras King Antonium and, as he'd said, his sweet little wife, Suddiu the mudkip, who kind of reminded him of Mystic-her-daughter but Mystic was not calm and thoughtful but—he idly wondered where Majestic's and Mystic's oddball selves had come from, as they were similar enough to be siblings, but their parents didn't quite match as Antonium was somewhat like a surfer version of Byrender and Suddiu was the sweetest, cutest little thing, but he wasn't too concerned. There was always hope for a crazy uncle. Moving on, the scent of the sea still permeated his nostrils, and oh, Munchie began to miss it. He hoped one day he could return to that beautiful, glorious kingdom. Thinking about it: whenever he and Ashley saved the world and all that—oh, and Influence, too—where would he choose to live after..? He didn't know. He'd figure it out; he had bigger problems like a gigantic, terrifying dad to worry about, at the moment.

Kind of the King to allow Munchie and friends to ride him on their gateway to these Hidden Lands—as Ashley called them—that they had to hunt through in order to get to the spoke point. King Antonium floated through the clean air plenty of times as his blue fins, sometimes all the same gray in certain points, and helped provide them a speedy passage through some mucky territory that looked otherwise unappetizing. Like Dusknoir... was already up to something... and the world was turning to grimy food underneath his strawberry-eyed watch. Why was it the guy with the pretty, red eye that had become the monster? Or always been one? Ashley had explained a few tidbits to him, but truly: why? What made a pokemon that creepy, or psycho, or whatever term fit that thing named Ashley's Dad in the long run?

They hiked the rest of it to where they were now. Shadows already began to spring, and color had receded far into the depths of one's soul until Munchie couldn't tell the difference betwixt very many ideals and his heart had practically lost its beat in his chest but they were there in the Hidden Lands where color returned, and so did the feeling under his toes. Munchie didn't understand very much about what was going to happen, but the whole can't-feel-heart-in-chest thing was new. It didn't seem particularly bad, and Ashley had already explained about how pokemon of the future were immortal until they withered into those messed up dark type or ghost type pokemon: what Dusknoir was, which... made a lot of sense. Obviously. He did happen to be the leader of this hot mess as it was. The more Munchie thought of it, the more he sought about those dark creatures, those ghost ones... and he deliberated there may have been regular pokemon with those types or something out there in the other islands—he could still name each of them by heart—but in Zundentun: he didn't know, but it was messed up. Zundentun had a lot of beach-like qualities to it, what with all of the water to it: Treasure Town's bluffs and shores, the entire existence of Fyshyngtyn, and a multifarious assortment of Mystery Dungeons, including but not limited to the Beach Cave, Drenched Bluff, Waterfall Cave, and Brine Cave. Also the sisterly Northern and Southern Deserts. So much sand. He remembered those ones well, since he's gone there a lot. Probably, more were included somewhere, but those stuck best in his mind. Shadows weren't unnatural, and there were surely some creepy creeps hanging out deep below the ocean, but... those _things_ from the future...

Those things looked ready to dominate Zundentun, then dominate everything. Dominate Truught, dominate Uytee, dominate Venturus, dominate Warldo, dominate Xendrandentus, dominate Yoctta. And... dominate Zundentun, of course. That, too. That, always. It'd be the start of it, with the time gears, and then all heck would break loose. Munchie didn't feel like stating which word Ashley would have used, because all heck breaking loose was just as traumatizing as... the word she preferred. Still didn't say it. Nope. He wasn't one to cuss. Munchie absently wondered what was out there on the other islands, what kinds of troubles they might face, and perchance if they had their own screwed futures. Nah, Zundentun must have started with the strange badness of Mystery Dungeons, for their screwed future was the only thing he saw. And that screwed future, it had to be stopped. Munchie didn't know how such palpable fear and darkness had come to taint the world and how Dusknoir himself was created, and frankly, he wasn't sure he had the time to figure it out. All that mattered was what Ashley and even Influence had come to do for their desperate lair full of loss, and... that was use her father's portals and escape to the past and stop it all before he came to play, before any of it did. He idly wondered: if Dusknoir was stopped and never came into existence, what happened to everyone else? Didn't know... didn't know. Didn't want to think about it. He was talking of how much longer Ashley had left to live, and he didn't want to limit her stay. He... he... honestly, Munchie wanted to just keep her with him. No limits or anything. It'd probably be a little bit nice maybe...

Thoughts of atrocities that were to come and a treasure chest of monsters that would soon begin to trickle open a crack more sicced Munchie's entity, and he stayed engrossed within the topics of fate and the screwed future and monsters just as strange and terrifying as Dusknoir who could make portals and had one for a stomach and liked to hurt pokemon like Munchie: more like everyone, because he seemed capable of hurting everyone, of wanting to harm all. And it sort of kind of... freaked him out. A lot, though. A whole lot. Ashley's hand must have found his at some point because the reason he was moving onward in the Hidden Lands was by the gentle, caressing tug of such hand. Strange, mystifying green grass crunched with satisfying noise he could practically taste from the sheer feel of it. He hadn't seen those sorts of sights, heard those sorts of sounds, since their finding of this place.

"It's a little more shitted down than the rest of Zundentun," the girl he entrusted his life with murmured helpfully. "It gets... worse... but as you can see, for now and for some time later it'll be pretty damn fantastic." So this was like... a safe zone, of sorts. And something else. Not sure how to respond, his ears buzzing somewhat, Munchie idly nodded with glassy orbs. Just happy to be in this hallow with her was good enough for him. Munchie didn't think he was all that needy. He hadn't tried to be, in the least. He hoped. H-he hoped.

As they ambled along, Influence somewhere in front of them as winding winds and the soft call of bells tangled with their ears and sent them onward, those questions couldn't help but silently plea and rattle inside of Munchie's head, and the more he wanted to send them away, the more the nagging grew, and grew, and grew, until it was practically as gigantic as Dusknoir and his inflated ego combined. His wonders of the future and whispers of the present and the strange, nature-like calls from the Hidden Lands all tangled up until they bunched up far further masses than a large, gaseous wisp that gave nightmares to anyone that either wasn't as dull as Influence and Majestic or happened to live in Treasure Town—not the guild but like the whole Treasure Town getup, the whole stereotype all set up and everything, which was everyone else—and also his ego, which was hysterically large as well. Being a hysterical creature stuffed with emotion, Munchie could assure you that Dusknoir was not a guy to be messed with. He was scary, man. He was scary. Still, the questions rattled like grit from the sand—lots of sand and lots of beach in Zundentun, couldn't forget the deserts and all that as well—that must have been studded in his fur if the places offering them hadn't already frozen up. He couldn't tell much more, felt a little tipsy, glassy, confused. Munchie's complete reliance—really his life—had gone onto the shoulders of the girl with him. He didn't know it quite yet, but she relied on him just as much: funny, how they both felt ready to quit and thought the other one was hanging on. They both weren't, but they were weaving together and it seemed alright in the end.

They were somewhere in the Hidden Lands, on the grass, under the sky, perhaps nearing the spoke, perhaps not, nobody knew where Influence was, when Munchie's lips parted and he asked her softly in that tone of his, the husk capturing its presence, making its gentle self better known—"Why... do they do this to such beauty? Why do they want to wilt it?" He asked her gently, as that was what he was—gentle—and Ashley, understanding, nodded to herself slowly. The flames in her eyes dimmed somewhat. She seemed to enjoy fingering it, though, knowing she had a chance to speak privately with him. That... made Munchie happier, too, honestly. He felt a blush creeping in and ended up submitting to it.

"They shit on beauty because they don't understand it," was her first response, but as she thought more, raised undulating odds, compared close synonyms and stopped, she shook her head gently, and Munchie just really freaking wanted to cup it and smile down at her for some bizarre reason. "They think it's... evil. They feast on magic and those beauties. It's like how they kill what they hate... they have some voracious appetite or fucking nonsense like that, and they take it all in and they turn it into sad things that it doesn't deserve to be. They truly don't understand it, and they fear it, and they hate it." Curious, he softly asked if her dad was the same, and she readily obliged, as if expecting that question. "Most pokemon are like that, where I live. Most pokemon are like that period. Everywhere. I'm just one of the special bitches or some damn reason like that." A shrug with her cute little shoulders ended conversation, and Munchie was left to his own devices for the moment as they walked on.

He raised his head again, since she seemed to like it more than not, and softly asked another question: "Where did... he come from? Where did—where did your dad originate?" Seeing his gentle, curious orbs centered in on her, Ashley seemed to waver for a moment. Did she like it?—did she want him to stop? He'd let it go if she wanted him to. Just say the word, he silently added on. Ashley didn't seem to notice all that much. Then again, he was probably overreacting. Ashley had to look at him to understand him, since she was deaf, so maybe she was taking a moment to digest the words and then she had to think them out, too, figure what was going on with her life and lay it out. Next, he deliberated he'd ask her why she didn't mind talking about it with him.

Ashley's orange hair shivered as she spoke. "He... he came from the stopping of the time gears. His existence, is, hell, yeah, because the fucked future, when it was the past, it fucked up good. Enter Dusknoir and a few other fucks and... yeah. Home." She stopped, then unraveled and picked up back at the beginning of the thread; whether she meant to at first or not, she'd started seeping into the story, and it seemed like she couldn't stop. "I doubt we'll ever figure out the whole start of how my home came to be the hell it is, but there's a few things we can tell, especially now that I've been to this lovely... lovely present." A slight sniff, covered by a cough. "We're nearing the drop off to it. I'm sure that our buddies from the guild will stop by our home at some point what with all the darkness, as they can't stay awake forever... and they'll be ambushed. It's coming up, whatever happened in the past to cause this shit, it started near now..." A pause. It seemed right to stop there, when glancing around the predicted deaths of their near entities, close to them in spirit alright. "I think it's because of a few things. First of all, nobody knew about it until Dusknoir was... born... And Treasure Town didn't give a shit. Those sorry asses seem to like him as it is. There's some few other places like Fyshyngtyn, a few stray homes like Jalendalynne's. But all of them together don't mean shit to the fucking masses in Treasure Town. They got bad feelings... they were the first to be devoured. But backing up a little—the time gears, their loss... Munchie, you and Jalendalynne couldn't find your corpses or anything in the future, maybe because you visited there and your fates are messed up, hell if I know, but it probably had something to do with you guys."

It was plain eerie that there was a past self of Munchie, a sort of spirit that touched the earth before him and was a part of the future somehow, the one that was screwed. And here he was now, too, truly here now, meaning this was his era or something like that. He didn't know everything. "Personally, I feel like it was you specifically, but... we don't know. We just don't. I've lived in this shitty place forever, and seeing your realm makes me want to cry, it's so fucking amazing. My dad... since he's so fucking messed up, I of course gained a lot of his attributes. I can't really hear. I use those fucking words a lot more, and it makes me look so filthy. I'm fucking terrible in general... Sometimes I interpret shit from the future and past, even, you know like with the vision of Influence and all, and damn, does it squeeze my head. All of this mental shit shoved on top of me because my dad is this messed up monster who was created by the loss of gentle caring for the time gears, the loss of our guardians, and the overall unhealthiness of citizens. I'm pretty sure some ancestor of my mom or another was part of Treasure Town, because I can't see guys like the pokemon of Fyshyngtyn living with that hell." Not sure what else to do, for the moment, Munchie silently agreed.

The world was messed up. The present was about to become what the future was, and did that final step lock in, they'd have Dusknoir and he'd take over and—where would Munchie be? His heart seized. He had no idea what would become of him. Jalendalynne could easily be one of those corpses, but he... where would he go? Whatever... happened to him... when the present became the future Ashley was in... He took a drastic change in this world at some point, he felt that, whether Ashley was there to fall on top of him when she lightning-bolt-zapped into the present... something would have become of him at some point, and how that connected to the time gears, how that connected to the demise of the future, this purgatory that the Hidden Lands would become: he didn't know. As a growing sense of dread threatened to weight him down and force him over on the fact of he didn't know where he'd go if they failed and that scared him, Munchie tried to shake off his fears. It didn't work all that well.

He remembered wanting to ask a kinder question, but being frozen up with dread and staring at the crunchy grass of the Hidden Lands dusted with daisies and other delightful flowers with a petal or so dancing in the wind, being so slick with emotion he could hardly choke past it, Munchie couldn't help but mumble, "What's it... like? The future?" He knew she didn't want to show him it, felt a desire to spare him from it, from what she said had made her horrible, why she was horrible—oh, he digressed—but if there was something she could let his curious self gnaw on a little, anything she did want him to know... He felt like that somehow had to do with the exceptionally gentle question he'd wanted to ask, but dang it, Munchie didn't remember much about that question in the first place so he continued on numbly, watching over the chimchar whether he realized it or not.

Already, stiffening, she looked hesitant. "Nn... Oh... Oh hell. I can tell you a couple of things. I know you're a curious one, Munchie, and I know you're really fucking concerned about whatever happened to you after the past went bonkers and all that..." Another pause. Must have been sorting out what was safe enough, what was maybe if she didn't come up with enough and he became greedy—which was a pretty safe bet he wouldn't, but who knew, maybe she did make a maybe section—and of course the outright noes he would never be allowed to know about. "Okay, okay, I'm caving. No caveats, please thanks, but... damn, Munchie..." She blinked slowly up at him. "There's a lot of spirits calling out... and there's the screaming. I think he accidentally made that white trail, but thank hell it was there with you when we were fucked in there. Perhaps it was some thing or another from the present leading you guys out, Munchie, but whatever fucking praise. What else—well, everyone's fucking horrible. Like more horrible than the usual talents-and-flaws every soul gets stuck with. There's... random platforms and traps he'll set up, he and some other spirits that are like him, but not quite him. The ground is made of... there's corpses and stones and spikes and blood and shit, but there's stuff I don't even know where to begin with, too. Since I get those fucking visions sometimes, I know that there's lots of sticky, red fingerprints and mush everywhere...

"Ugh... I'm fucking horrible..." Honestly, she seemed incredibly keen to leave it off there, let it end with how terrible Ashley was—when she—she—no, she wasn't! Munchie didn't feel so passionate about all that many things, but Ashley was one of those things he felt passionate about. He wasn't quite sure what that led to, but passion shoved up in his face and he squeaked out at her, "No you're n-not!"

A petty spat spread out between them. Softhearted, taken without punishment or pain, just hefty whispers with meanings adorned on them.

"But... Dammit, I am."

"You never could be. You're—you're amazing, Ashley. Way better than me."

"Not... not really... I don't want you to feel so happy around me—because of..."

"I know, but... but I can't stop how I feel about you, you're super cool..."

"Stop..." she moaned quietly. "Stop... I'm not super cool..."

"Believe what you want," he mumbled in response, "but to me, you're outstanding." He ended it with that, and Ashley, seeing that she wouldn't win this one, didn't respond for a little bit. They ensconced in their calm silence that somehow just happened to work with the both of them, and simply adapted as they went on together. Maybe one day he'd be able to convince the girl that she was super cool, and by then he'd be able to explain whatever the heck was going on with his heart, too. Maybe. Maybe not. He sure hoped he wasn't dead by then. Somehow, Munchie had the feeling that no matter what happened, Ashley wanted to be there for him: and he clung onto the fragment of a thought gratefully, because as stupid as it might have sounded to anyone else, he believed it and clung to it fitfully.

Genuinely smiling to himself for her, Munchie nodded his head slowly in the warmth of this gentle, grassy area, beginning to pick up a slope. They were... nearing the start of the spoke of a point, weren't they? Getting closer... nearing destiny... It reminded Munchie that he had to ask Ashley about their exact plan all over again. Then he remembered, oh yeah, his other question and the thing. He decided to say the new thing he devised first, because it was a little more important. "I—sorry, Ashley, that I got upset with you... I'm sorry..." Then he linked it with, "I trust I haven't aggravated you. Why do you... why do you talk so freely about it now..?"

"It's okay, Munchie." One of her somewhat-bashful shrugs. Every time she did that the urge to hug her surged through his chest: his heart, to be exact. Why his heart, man, why his heart. "And... I dunno, it's easier to talk around you. It just is. I feel pretty comfortable around you... but I still distress you and upset you, and I wish I didn't. But I do... Ugh. Makes me think that if I hadn't been born in that hellhole, maybe, you know..." He nodded at her to go on, suddenly very intrigued but also worried as usual because that was what he did. "...maybe... I'dfeelgoodenoughforyou?" She coughed rudely at the last part and dented her words, so Munchie didn't quite catch it on his own, but the hurt displayed on the cute little chimchar's face and the blush and pain stained upon it told him enough. She looked... upset. A wreck. In pain, even... It brought him sadness to see her like that. He didn't quite understand what she'd said, but just the face alone made him want to grab her hands and will away whatever was ailing her, as it was so plainly seen. He really felt like there was something wrong with him if these kinds of thoughts kept popping up in his head, but... what else was there to it, he supposed?

Like a dream, his fingers twitched and spread out, one closing in on one of Ashley's hands, the other reaching for her other. Maybe they'd match and that would be kind of cool, but he just really really wanted to hold them for some reason. Would holding her hands fix him..? Without a clue, his scruffy blue fingers, not particularly large or small, seemed ready to latch out and make that final move, and still his eyes locked up and he did that thing as he froze and he wanted to but he wasn't sure if he could and wasn't sure if he'd do it right or like if Ashley'd hate him or something? Munchie didn't know. His mind went numb as he tried to reach out to her and penultimately, as it always went: failed. Stupidly, lamely, numbly: failed. Then a sudden flash hit the primate's fiery orbs and her fingers did that snatch for his idiotic self, and then it was like bam they were holding hands and her eyes were on his eyes and it was... Munchie couldn't stop himself. Yeah, it was cool. It was.

Something or another held back, though, because Ashley broke her brittle hands from his and slanted her gaze away and mumbled words he didn't quite catch. Munchie wished he could ask for her to repeat what she'd said, because duh of course he wanted to hear it, but the deaf girl's eyes strayed and she didn't look ready to face him anytime soon. Geez... Girls were confusing. Nah, he was probably just too stupid to read her. Ashley didn't seem all... all that confusing. Munchie had still been the eavesdropper he was for a long time, always was, and she still gave off small points of secrecy, heavy burdens she balanced on her own silently, willing for not a soul to see them. When he'd first ran into her—more like she fell on top of him—Munchie recalled seeing how much she easily would slink around a question and slyly hold it back, slyly didn't give much away. But as she did, points of interest that were obviously avoided became profound: what her home was truly like. Stuff like that would never leave her lips. And then these... burdens, that she didn't look ready to spill about to anyone. And it looked rather painful to see her in such a state. Again, Munchie just wanted to hug her. Awkward as he was, it poured a stream of longing into him.

He wished he could ask her what was going on, but the silence pursued silence and he didn't know what to say. Yet the longer he watched her long, sad expression plainly out for him to notice, easy to see her distress that he didn't even know how to wipe away, as much as his heart could desire, and she didn't open up anymore to him. Munchie felt lost, stuck, trapped, unable to communicate with this freaking deaf chimchar that he kept jumping to, kept wanting to converse with as was. He obviously wasn't going to crack the girl open and make her speak for him, that was rude and seriously, he'd stated it so many times: Ashley was a lady. Sure, one that cussed and spat and didn't act so prim and proper or whatever, but chivalry always won, and Ashley was a lady. Plus he didn't like treating her wrong it made him sad. Munchie didn't know what to say, but the songs in his head, the shuffling from the wind and the strange, yearning chime of bells spoke to him, and he wanted to stick with Ashley. They moved on as the land beneath their feet convulsed and churned upward, spouting rocks and intricate patterns on the ground, as well as the ever-present grasses.

Because he didn't know what else to say, Munchie asked, "So... what about the plan?" After Dusknoir dispersed like that after both obtaining the location of the final time gear he was missing—how he realized he didn't have one was quite the mystery, but then again he was Dusknoir and he was terrifying as it was—and also accomplishing the feat of nearly screwing Munchie over and then saving his life all in one: they probably had to figure out something else. All the munchlax knew was that he and Ashley and Influence too, wherever he'd wandered off to, had to reach that spoke point, which he'd heard was a miraculously tall tower that stood strong for the most part and was made of dark, cool stone with patterns and spirals stamped along its every edge. Also they had to climb to the top of it or something?

It seemed a dense, black fog had dampened Ashley's mood. Glancing over, Munchie caught her dimmed orbs and slumped composure. Something was surely getting to her. She caught his glance and, sensing he'd said something, locked eyes until Munchie repeated his question and the chimchar, chewing on her pale-faced lip thoughtfully, nodded to herself. She seemed ready to speak, too. "Ugh, I can just feel the fucking darkness coming out. I'm sure Influence feels this damnation, too. It... feels like home..." With that, the small, sparky girl let out a shudder. "Yuck. Dammit, I..." Another shudder. Instinctively, face lighting up, Munchie offered his body like a sort of huddle to her, and her hands wrapped about his arm and she stuck close to him. "That... helps..." Shaking her head, she abruptly let go and took some paces to the side. She seemed to have a thing against getting all cuddly to him. Feeling a hot ball of embarrassment stuffing down his throat, Munchie had no idea how to react to that. Thinking of the deaf chimchar in question: maybe she just didn't want her _horrible_ self with him, but Munchie couldn't care less about that. She wasn't horrible and if he wanted to hug her—well, she had to want to too. Right. Darn it. He sighed to himself.

"The plan...Oh, fuck it. I might as well tell you. I don't now how much longer we've got until—" Ashley didn't finish the sentence, just abruptly stopped and caught herself. Munchie felt grateful for that. He didn't know why. He just did. Draping something like that in mystery made it look less traumatizing. "So... we travel through the top of the spoke, first off. That tower... We'll have to get to the top without the dark shit coming and killing us off. It's gonna try to, I think. We've been here for some time, and hell, this is where Dusknoir himself originated, along with everything else." Ooh, Munchie wasn't looking forward to that. "That's... the first step." She paused, not quite content, knowing she left him off, and blinked to herself, sighing gently. Ashley appeared much older than she looked, for a moment, before shaking herself off and trying again. "I... I'll tell you it all... but it's just... It's fucked, man. It's fucking fucked. Give me a moment..."

Guilt sucked into him for having her tell all of these annoying things to him that ate at her, but she still bunched herself up, still held strong. Wasn't much else she could do, and Ashley looked as if she really did want to let this out, let him know. Without mentioning anything, admittedly Munchie did sort of kind of deserve to know—d-didn't he..? Maybe a little. Munchie blinked softly to himself, as Ashley had done prior. At some point, they both had stopped walking up the churning, grassy slope studded with rocks and as Munchie stared at his full-moon feet, he soon saw why. Black sludge trickled up from roots and grappled at his toes, and his nonchalant walk had been slowed to nothing and it'd been so carefree he hadn't the brains to notice. Munchie raised a hand and slapped himself across the cheek. He then went "ow," but it woke him up a little. Ashley'd seen his spine snap up and ready after the slap, so her gaze flecked over to him again. "Uh... Ashley, what's up with the—the ground?" he squeaked.

"Oh." Her face upturned and the inky blackness swam in her eyes as she stared down into it. "Ew. The fuck. It's a swamp." That—that was a swamp? Oh man ew he never wanted to go to the beach in the future. Not even on vacation or anything. Wait—if that was what vacation looked like in the future..? Oh yeah no. Ew. How about no. "We just keep walking, Munchie. Lift up your feet and keep on strolling. If you move on, it won't get to you." She lifted a tedious finger, flicking a bit of black matter that had randomly crawled up to Munchie's face. "You are fucking terrible at this, Munchie." Dumbstruck, he rubbed at the spot she'd touched.

Not knowing what else to say, his soft voice tittered out, "Thank you..?"

She laughed at that quietly, and didn't speak otherwise. Just smiled to herself, before idly reminding Munchie to lift his feet before the swamp consumed him, which got him up and running, freakishly raising his legs and churning up the black goo in his walk as he began squeaking with each plop and tossing back his arms and sprinting and madly hopping the rest of his way up until he reached the peak of a gentle hillock, beside the brave cloves of a bright, fiery dandelion, and stared down at the strange goo calling out to him, its oily confines reeking with an emotion he'd... never felt before. Moist, sticky, disgusting turmoil clawing up his mouth and dying inside of him, clogging his entire body with sewer-like fluids that rotted and decayed his innards. It hurt. It ached. It tore him up on the inside and sent his heart spinning in a mad, pumping tizzy that leaped up and down his throat until it landed in the pit of his stomach and cried. Cried. Simple tears filled him up on the inside, these emotions getting the best of him like they always did, and Munchie felt weak and stupid and unable to do much of anything. This bleak, black cloud: it was a small figment of the future wriggling through his ears and clouding his thoughts with this strange illness. Was it even that? Was it even... what was it? Munchie... couldn't tell. He coughed, and black fluid erupted in a scramble of spittle.

Bleakly, staring with dark, enchanted orbs, Ashley sneezed and plopped to the ground beside him, digging her fingers into his arm and forcibly moving him away from that swamp thingy. It didn't quite feel right, a swamp, didn't quite smell like it, didn't quite look like it, didn't match up with the marshy scum of a swamp, but quite an inky, oily trap nevertheless. Because it—a future swamp, it happened to be. A future swamp. One that wanted to eat away at beauty because it feared and disproved and reproached beauty and magic and found it much more enticing as a short snippet for appetite. What had... what had the wonderful world he'd become so charmed by become? Ashley, he squeaked to himself, what had become of them? What was this—this thing that ate away not only out but in him? Why did it... why was it—

"It's fucking horrible, Munchie," she whispered. Her eyes still shone, but with an underwhelming lackluster that put out the flames she usually carried. "Munchie, this is the hell that created me." Her voice had gone soft, a sort of tender he'd never heard from her, and catching the tune she sang from it with her voice—he yearned to hear more. "I'm not good enough... I can't like you like that... I can't like you like anything—because of the monster I am. This is who everyone at home is. That swamp... it's, them, you know," she crooned it, her voice hinted in malice, "and it's me, too." When she sighed so quietly, his heart split right open at the seams and Munchie nigh fell to his knees and began crying there and then. She didn't deserve this, she, out of everyone, out of the future, out of any soul living in that screwed land: she, most of all, did not deserve that. She was so close to understanding, but she couldn't because of that. But—but even past that—Munchie loved—oh. _Oh. OH._ He saw how it was. He saw those emotions in his heart now. Oh yes he did. Yeah he did. He snorted at himself for his stupidity and raised his hand as if to slap himself but Ashley yanked at it and the scruffy blue arm fell to their sides. She didn't say anything, and neither did he, and their silence was welcome.

Nothing left to do, nothing better to do, only hope stirring in their bones, teeming in their minds, racing them on, rushing through them and crying out to them, shouting in holy might, they had to, they had to. Magic arced and sprung like sparks: they had to. He couldn't believe where he was, he, Munchie, that scrawny, skinny, scruffy munchlax with the crooked pair of teeth forever to be shown off to all around him, this was _him_. What a strange sight that must have been for everyone else, to see the crazy munchlax rise to the call. But honestly, who else would..? The guild depended on each other and would choose to save a friend before saving the world and they'd die together rather than split off, they'd let it happen. Jalendalynne was small and couldn't hold up those big things: she despised it. Ashley and Influence... they were from the future. Neither of them understood. Munchie... he couldn't believe it, but he was the present, and he was welcoming himself into a place of his own where he went out and he... _he could change the future. Munchie, welcome to a world... where the present could change the future._ He had no idea what was going on in his head, but it went and he felt strength in himself for once in his life, and he felt Ashley with him, and he wanted to do this for multiple reasons. For the world, for the magic, for his feelings, for himself: for her. "Munchie—oh... let me continue."

All was calm as the chimchar raised her voice, once again filled with its metallic future tang, and she explained their next step. "The spoke is sticking out like a really damn tall tree, just out there." He could see what appeared to be a massive twig scrawled in beige swirls only just betwixt the cusp of horizon and there. "We have to climb it, next, and we have to be careful. Inside of the spoke... fucking ironic, but there's not exactly magic in there." Oh no. Oh no. It dawned on him. Oh no. "The magic connects there, it's started there, but the spoke itself is risen with a bunch of shit that once out of control, oh you know what the hell happens next." Oh. Oh no. Oh he did, oh he did. Ohhhh no. "Fuckdad won't be there... but... some stuff will. Shit, this will be gross." She snorted and spat, as she always did.

"What's... the rest of them?"

She paused, melancholic, reflecting, sad at the notion. It somewhat put a damper on him, too, but the focus was to stop this from happening. Strange little Munchie would stop this from happening... What had the world come to? Well, he supposed... he cared. And that was what mattered in the end. He was pathetic, he was awkward, he was frail, he was feeble, he was terrified out of his wits, he was shaking with emotion, he wasn't particularly attractive, he wasn't good with other pokemon, heck, he was skinny. He was the skinny munchlax. But it turned out there was one thing good about him, and it seemed that was the fact that he cared. He cared so deeply for Ashley and for the friends he'd made—he maybe sort of okay yeah a little cared about Influence, too—he cared about the magic, about its beauty, about the world. He cared... He cared. Funny. Who knew. Munchie cared, man. Looked like all of his flaws and his lack of self-esteem, all that good stuff, made up in the end, because he was about to save everyones' sorry bums. And... Munchie—well, he wasn't like proud of it, but he was happy he supposed? Yeah, sure. He was happy. Okay. Now Munchie wanted to kiss the girl beside him. He spluttered.

Then Ashley was alive again, head raising and herself somewhat gleaming. "We've got a little bit to go before we reach the spoke. What the hell, let me get the rest of the boring middle stuff. We'll reach the top and... we'll have to... Okay, this part gets fucking twisted, but deal with me. The middle of the spoke is kind of like the heart of magic in a way, and anyway, we'll have to talk... with it. Sort of. Again, bear with me. We get new time gears only after fuckdad's held the old ones for long enough they're decomposing—and they're practically there, so we're good." She ended it there and sealed herself shut. Munchie cocked his head to the side in question, but she wouldn't go on. Munchie pressed into her shoulder. Nope, nothing but her face suddenly went red and she shoved him back and scowled a little.

Ashley suddenly shoved against him, so Munchie pressed his head to the side and his eyes caught something he didn't expect to see. Tentacles: you heard him right: tentacles, sucking, pointed, wriggling prune things that smelled like the ocean after it became the future ocean. The screwed future ocean, whatever. It was just the future until Ashley and everything was saved. Then, he didn't know what it'd be. A distant memory? Proof that the world was okay? Again, he didn't know. Suddenly Munchie was reminded of Influence and stared again at the tentacles that sprung magically from the grass that was still green and still crunched and had begun to take in the distinct scent of inky blackness. It was this rancid, lukewarm stench Munchie couldn't escape. Ashley, seeing the thing on him, blew flames and it strangely attracted to those red-hot bursts—oh yeah, like called to like or something—and she tugged him back and out. Munchie again wanted her to stay right there with him, but Ashley again slid away and he lost it. Sighing softly, he lumbered after her and nearly ran into another plant-like extension of tentacles, squealing and dropping back, then dashing drastically straight past it. Long fingers extended, Ashley enabled herself as a beacon to the tentacles and as her hands held high she could somersault down and under and past them like some crazy contortionist. Interesting, cool, but frightening. Nearly sent Munchie down a hole and into tears.

More of the swamp-like crevices seeped through, the closer they came to the cool, dark brown stone. Its patterns shimmered, beckoned the thin munchlax closer, who lifted the scruff about his feet and ran onward. Ashley continued plucking her hands and feet from the grass and crunching along, biding her time and ducking around the strange things Munchie had never seen before surrounding, surmounting, forcing them into a claustrophobic setting. Thank goodness that out of all his flaws, Munchie had nothing wrong with tight, closed spaces. That'd make the guild kind of difficult, now that he thought of it. Their own home was practically a claustrophobic nightmare, and then adding the Mystery Dungeons—oh. No. Nope. Thank goodness that wasn't one of his numerous failures in himself. Munchie sucked in a grateful breath just as a hand yanked into his mouth and grabbed something sticky and squeezed it of... of saliva. His tongue. The thing had his tongue.

He couldn't scream, could hardly funnel air, just began outrageously, ostentatiously thrashing in such a way that made him look strong but penultimately did nothing. He was a magikarp out of water, now, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, hanging onto both life and death and feeling his tongue being lolled and pulled about, flickering where it could which was only through the gaps betwixt the filthy, horrendous paw's fingers, and Munchie could feel his body being slung in directions that went back and the slime encased his spine and he didn't know what was going on until a screech echoed and suddenly a long, dark green leaf had cut off the hand, and wispy smoke poured out. His gagging episode ended. "Oh, hey, I found a bitch! Where's the other bitch?" Munchie wanted to praise Influence with all his might, but his tongue felt stringy and a little loose too. He suddenly couldn't trust his own mouth and began squeaking erratic sounds with no idea what was going on or what to do. Eventually he must have spat either smoke, blood, or a conglomeration of each, because Munchie blinked his flailing eyes and soon regained control of himself. "Damn, boy, you look wrecked." He felt wrecked, thanks Influence.

"Well... we've still got s'more to get through. Come on, Munchie. This isn't even the start." Sadly, he was just about ready to toss himself on the crazy pseudo grass and cry himself out of orbit until emotions stopped making sense after that little episode. Someone had begun dragging him by the tongue and he didn't even know what filthy scum that thing was. Please, spare him, he wanted to scream. But he didn't, for he had a mess of saving to do. Also if he kept stopping and moping something was gonna come up from behind and grab his tongue again. Having one's tongue grabbed had to be one of the most scream-worthy emotions he'd ever gone through, feeling as if his entire body was being yanked on a cord, morphing into a puppet for the monster of a master that had him by the string, the tongue, and wouldn't let go until he was put of whatever use became required and served. He wanted to weep at the thought of going through that horror again. Oh geez no how about not.

Something pinched at the nape of his neck. Cold, slick fingers. Wheezing, gasping, sucking breath. Munchie squealed and ran, flinging himself up the rocky and grassy plains as they dove upwards and he bowled over Ashley and their heads cracked into one another then into the great creature looming and practically breathing all over them. Ashley mumbled a few choice words about what she thought on the matter, then played the deaf card and sounding annoyed and innocent, then straightened her neck, which cracked again, and shook her head, her lone ear flopping a little sideways. Munchie hoisted her up and they stared at the stepping stones of stairs in front of them. Feeling terrified and knowing that if he said the wrong thing Ashley would let go of his hand and shove back, Munchie groped for reason and mumbled, "What's the last step?" All he could think of saying without scaring her away. He so desperately desired to keep her with him for at least another moment longer because it was warm and he felt much better around Ashley than he did anyone else. He could trust her because even though she was alike to those monsters that made him choke on his own tongue, she didn't threaten, she'd spit. And that was it. And he... dang it, the emotions jumbled: he something. Something powerful.

"The last step? Oh... after you get the time gears." Ashley—what about her? What about... she'd said _after you_ , not _after we_. Fear singed him worse than that dark fire in her belly. "Well, after that, everything's pretty much fucking secured. Don't get me wrong, we have quite the trail to blaze, but after all that..." And yet again, she paused, left a cliffhanger, and scurried up the steps, leaving Munchie behind only to turn around and catch a whiff of his face, and the emotion breathing off of it. "After... that..." Her face went stony and gray and she didn't look like she wanted to tell him. As much as he wanted to see her badly, she kept tossing in that detour and wouldn't say, wouldn't say. Finally, jumping her faith down a leap into cold, dark, boiling fear—her eyes lit right up and broiled with something heavy—she said it:

"I stop existing."

She turned around, scampering back up and ducking her head from sight. For a moment, all Munchie could do was look up and stare as the orange blur receded and fell back into the coiling road leading only up. His heart forgot how to beat and he felt a cold rush shiver down his spine. Irritably, he furled his stubby fingers into fists and grit his teeth; in the end it all fell back in slush and it mattered not. What mattered was seeing Ashley off and realizing a time bomb now dominated whatever relationship he shared with her. Their time was ticking, now, and after—after the world was saved... He saw it. Dawning, golden sunshine gleamed in and he saw it: after the world was saved, Dusknoir would never come, and nothing from the screwed future would last. Not even the best of its albeit scorched morsels. None of the ashes would remain standing. Not even Ashley... not even the best of those horrors that he only wanted to stay with him. Something tapped him in the small of his back and pulled away, like taffy, the spines that had stuck into him. "Come on, Munchie, get a move on."

His voice cracked and melted into a pule worse than Influence's scrabbling sigh. "Then you all die."

"Yep." A cheery deadpan. Oh, Influence. Only you could do that. "That's why I kept questioning what was going on in her fucking skull. But I reasoned that your world must somehow be better than the future, so whatever." A prodding on that dark blue spot. It reminded Munchie of the burned fur on his chest, where the time gear had left its imprint: almost like a prophecy, an assurance that he'd be here now and this was what would happen. "Munchie." Prod, prod. "Move." Poke. Poke poke poke poke. "Come on, man." He said that a lot. Another prodding ensued. "Dammit, Munchie. Do you want the world to go to waste or—no. You would've moved by now." He stopped, thought about it long and hard.

He felt the plantlike grovyle straighten with certainty as he poked the back of his scruffy head. "Would you rather see Ashley cry, or Ashley happy, when you lose her? Either way, we'll be lost. We can't really stay here in this time snafu forever. If you guys get fucked over, we'll just... I dunno. It won't matter. Do you want her happy or not." That—did he have to? Influence—did he have to play that card? Really? Sighing dryly, Munchie stirred and he moved. Of course he wanted the stupid girl happy more than anything else. His life had crumbled into ashes and mess, so Munchie just blinked his tired eyes and ambled upward. A hollowness crept up on him like the shadow slinking behind his feet, and he knew the monsters would return, but suddenly, none of it mattered. He moved because Ashley would cry if he didn't. Slow, numb footsteps etched up the trail. _Thak, thak. Thak thak thak._

They repeated. On and on and on. Munchie's feet were slowly inching up platforms that began to ooze a hefty, salty odor and stick slick to his wriggling toes, captives in the creeping jellies of strawberry-red color coding. It made sickening lunges and _slurrrrrrrccchh_ noises, moving with its own mind and crafting little waves with each pouf of a step Munchie managed to produce. Influence grumbled a few ugly words that settled on the munchlax's coat of twilight blue fur. He shuffled in it, slumped over, walked through it with himself hunched and his stomach beginning to groan pensively. Well, it sounded like his stomach. It soon came to Munchie's attention that he was nary capable of sound on his own as the winds and the bells howled at him, shrieking and crying out and ripping through his ears like pins and needles bounced down through him. Weakly, he shivered. The sensation passed though and Munchie took his swooping steps up the ladder of what began to look a lot more like bones—finger bones, leg bones, skull bones.

Something made a low, assertive moan that shackled and took hold of the entire tower, which thus made a nauseating swing as if wobbling out of its own perch. Head reeling, Munchie blinked at the ground and counted the bubbles in the red, gel-like substance casually inching its way up his leg. Shaking out his toes, it fell down like a collapsed tower. The bells whooping and hollering inside of him began a slow climb up in tangs and clanged violently inside of him. Influence took a mad grasp at Munchie's arm and the plantlike gel that made up his fingers let out a _ssssssskwurrunncchhh._ He plucked what looked like sharp but common pebbles from his body. Munchie saw that Ashley was in a bad position, up there on her own. He didn't know how his mind could focus on something besides the terrain, but it did: her. That... might have been a little powerful. He blinked blearily and continued up, heart leaping in his chest. Something cold and gooey splattered on his head and momentarily blinded him and seemed to slurch on top of Influence too until the both of them were squeaking and hopping madly, their voices churning with anguish and pure what-the-heck-or- _hell-if-you-were-Influence_ that rapidly engrossed their situation into a hysterical situation burning with nausea.

Prying off the goo, it stuck in hairy, web-like lines to Munchie's hands. He just casually looked at it, coughed up a stream of fog, and went on. Influence grumbled something under his breath and sounded ready to punch something or someone. Munchie hoped that wasn't him and squealed as he hobbled onward, emotion somewhat attracting to his fulsomely assorted character before the goo stumbled into his face and pretty soon he was coughing up sharp and sticky objects alike. "Damn, what did you do?" Munchie wasn't in the position to argue, so he attempted to run and not hurl altogether. It... kind of worked. Gloppy, red streaks landed on his fur in messy pulps and traced the ground. Hey, if they got lost they could find the way down again.

Thick in his throat, a long, thin, metallic object splurted from his lips.

The moan punctured the air again with a raspy, sloshing sound, and it came banging down on Munchie as the flaming orbs caught his and he saw what it was. A kindly mess of black and red had drizzled over a bipedal creature that was cramming its arm into those flaming-colored girl's maw and spluttering at her. Oozing strips of black leaked off and puffy clouds stuffed with strawberry-red dots like sesame seeds sprinkled over with strange, erratic coloring that pinched Munchie somewhere. Squeaking at the sight of it, so high up in their demise already, the girl hurled words from her gut and smacked the creature back away from her, seeming ready to jump at Munchie—oh yeah that had to be Ashley definitely—which brought in a ray of joy that was soon stained with black. Those streaks morphed and bubbled and reigned upon him and his buddies, dripping with rancid breaths and smells and it felt like a monster was about to swallow him up whole. Vivid memories of how he'd felt prior about such situations trickled down the back of Munchie's mind and sat cold in him. He felt threatened to say hello, but coughed up what appeared to be a ball of liquid black hair, and more entrails tickled down his throat, thus Munchie didn't greet anybody anytime soon.

The hot mess sniffed the air in thick, throaty snorts, then raised a hairy, speckled arm to drape Influence and Ashley with its coloring and swat them on. Staring upward, Munchie caught the sight of whirling air and the sound of bells. He didn't think he was getting there anytime soon. As the ground moved up from beneath him and he was further engrossed with the red, chunky liquid and the shadowy, black stripes, the creature's eye raised up from the earth and slithered toward him. Strawberry coloring, speckled with black and even given a leafy outcropping that tickled in the wind. But Munchie was sheltered as he was closed in on, and bits and pieces of hair and black and red and liquid and goop and white bones shattered in on him and he didn't feel the cold wind but thick, heavy, lacerated air that choked down his gut and soon he had swallowed the hair. Staring into the strawberry eye as it swiveled on its own with slick _sssssloinks,_ balancing up arms and what could have been a cavernous maw studded with rocky tooth holes, Munchie soon saw his life flashing before him and understood something he didn't prior.

Fate had slithered across his path. Was this his... demise... that he saw through the speckled pupil? His failure? His loss? Was this where his—where the present came to an end and the future would be born anew? Was he—what was he going to do with himself now? Munchie stared, dazed and awkward, as hot fluids poured down upon him and grunted as his ability to breathe was slackened and the time gear imprint on his chest burned. He felt as if Dusknoir must have been nearby, flaunting his beauty with some old wisp buddies. Munchie thought about his life then, and about what was going to happen to him. He thought of Ashley and regretted that he'd never gotten to telling her that he loved her. He thought about his friends back home and hoped they weren't going to die. He thought of the time gears and pleaded that Ashley and Influence could do something good. He thought of the space-time continuum and he thought about... life, in general. Also he thought about the sunset he'd never see again. It had been awhile since he'd stared up into the sky with the staining colors, just him and nobody else, and he didn't regret leaving it behind. He was... he looked like a thin, scraggly, awkward nobody, but understood he was a weirdo really. And apparently he was special.

"DAMN YOU, DUSKNOIR! GIVE UP THOSE TIME GEARS!" Ears crawling with ooze, Munchie could hardly tell and even less believe Influence had just screamed. And then tackled the guy, and then aforementioned time gears fell into that vat of a stomach and something holy shattered and suddenly the monster was tangled up with Influence and Munchie was safe and the present—whatever he represented—wasn't all that bad. He rubbed at his eyes and noticed the strange accumulation of wind had blown off all of his ailments. He didn't feel all that bad but now was most definitely shivering and had to dig in both his feet and arms to keep himself from falling off the podium at the top. "AW, SHIT," was the last thing he heard from the grovyle.

"HOLY DAMN TURD," was the last thing he heard from the dusknoir. So he did curse. Okay then. Pulsating meshes of strange conglomerates melded and fell and soon he had no idea what was going on and Munchie nearly crashed from the height, from the top of the tower, from the dizziness rushing through his head, as something long, thin, and red attempted to latch onto him, but Ashley sneered, spat, and pulled back. When he looked back, it kind of looked like an arm. Or a tongue. Severed tongue with the esophagus attached—why did it look so awkward? What was that all about? He may have stumbled back into its sinewy grip did Ashley's hand not sit so tightly.

Their words flashed by one another like grating screams. The wind practically carried them away with their cries.

"THE HELL, MUNCHIE!? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED BACK THERE!?"

"I THINK IT WAS GOING TO KILL ME! I FELT LIKE FATE WAS THERE WITH ME!"

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

It morphed into a spat he didn't want to have, but Ashley's words simply drew it in.

"DAMMIT, MUNCHIE, THAT CORRUPTION—DAMMIT! DON'T LET IT DO THAT!"

Confusion. "I—I DIDN'T TRY TO, ASHLEY!"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DIE ON ME, DAMMIT! I'M THE WORTHLESS ONE!"

It flared into anger so quickly. "WORTHLESS!? YOU!? YOU—NO! NO NO NO!"

"YES!"

"ASHLEY, STOP IT! NO! YOU'RE NOT!"

Red-hot words splattered against each other, twisted and heated and they screeched—he was worse—no she was worse—no he was—in various sets of sentence structure that in the end caved through as the tower shook and the gooey, red fingerprints of creatures he didn't want to meet would _splat, splat, splAT_ against the narrow edges of the pedestal of a top. One tickled beneath the hairs on his foot, and when Munchie stumbled backward, the girl in front of him let out a true scream and pulled him back and began whispering as if in a chant to please not die on her, please not die on her. He took this moment to cup her face and pull it up to his a little, and he didn't muster the courage to do anything like _that_ , but he did whisper to her so she could read him, "Hush. You're still wonderful to me."

"But I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved," came her rattled, shaken, broken reply, "I can't do the things you want me to... I can't whisper softly, I can't stop fucking cussing and looking like a trashy mess, I can't be gentle and kind and soft and how you deserve me to be." The last words traced over him: _and how you deserve me to be._ They... he felt he'd reached an understanding, and his heart cracked as he realized she never would, seeing who she was. They each wanted the better of the other and they had these feelings and it honestly... he wasn't used to it, but it was nice to see her look up at him and him, in his own sense, look up at her, too. But she... She was still a figment of a screwed future—a cursed, malevolent, ugly future she didn't deserve—and she never would be able to see it. Never would be able to cross that gap, as close as she could come. And she was there, on that ledge, crying out for reason to come and take her and show her to the other side... a side she would never reach.

As if sensing the mutual emotions spilling out upon it, an old, cranking tone burst up and rubbed against the top of the tower, giving metallic _click—click-clicks_ as it came and went. A pattern submerged, and as Ashley's head lowered and her sobs went soft and quiet, so did reason for the munchlax. Tears began to eke from the emotional thunderstorm inside of him. Somehow, the tower must have really liked that light show of feelings it just got, and especially after the time gears came and went via Dusknoir and he and Influence both went plummeting to an accidental situation. Munchie felt hot, steamy guilt knowing that certainly, Influence hadn't meant to basically kill himself, certainly not to save Munchie. But he had, and the guilt built up within him. As if thriving off of this display of pure feelings, the clicks sped up in their pattern and gave off the occasional steam-powered _clik-whirrrrrr_ like it was talking or something. Well, Munchie and Ashley were too exhausted to care to talk to the machine or whatever, but it seemed pleased enough in its placated show, and accepted the appeasement or whatever it was in the end. All in all, time gears were being cut and restored to their new holy selves. What were they, children of the last sextuplets? Something like that.

As he waited, his grip on this girl began to float and weave and he realized that his arms were sinking and he was losing it.

It crashed down on him.

He was losing Ashley.

 _I stop existing._

He would never see her again.

 _I stop existing._

He would lose all connection with her whatsoever and nothing—nothing—would remain. Would he even... r-remember... her..? That couldn't be. Dang it, that wasn't fair! And it—it wasn't. Ashley's flaming orbs stuck with a sudden notice that the present would be preserved and the future would be reborn, rebuilt, and she was wearing away now. "Ah..." was all that came to her at first. Then, struggling, she murmured in a voice that nary flitted any higher, and didn't even instinctively curse or she'd run out of time, slip from her words. "I'm going... away, now..." Yes that was obvious she couldn't leave him Ashley stop going away Munchie's heart surged she was leaving him she was leaving him she wasn't coming back ever—never. Not even a grave would mark it. She'd be like... she never existed.

Oh. Oh no.  
Munchie couldn't live in a world like that. He couldn't go back to how he was at the beginning without her, without her swanky strangeness, without the guild and Jalendalynne and Fyshyngtyn and for crying out loud, kids into occults, even freaking Influence. Dusknoir. He couldn't lose that and become who he was all that time ago... could he? Would he? His mind spaced out and cooled. It didn't matter. He couldn't lose her. N-not... not Ashley. Munchie couldn't lose her because he... he... "Munchie, can you look at me... one last time?" As if under mind control he did exactly that with no question. "This is the part when I stop existing, when everything stops existing, the next step is for you to seal the time gears—you know there's no getting out of that one—and... the last step is for you to forget this ever happened." She said it. The tears had come before she'd even started her soft, angelic whisper with that hagiolatric soul of hers, sparkling and shining with rainbows practically popping out of her... He couldn't look away, and he couldn't bear it. She was in an essence of sorts and it was obvious this form of hers was... it was practically perfect. Minus the fact one of her ears was still missing.

"But I... don't want you to forget, Munchie. I don't want anyone to forget, but most of all you... And it seems I'm here with you now... as I lose everything about me... and will cease to exist at all. I... I dunno if I should do this, but whatever." Then she said it. "Fuck the rules. This part never happened. I'm writing the end of the story." Both of her hands lashed out; one dressed across his eyes and the other tapped his chest. He couldn't tell what happened to those orbs of his, but on his chest, that imprint of the time gear strengthened and moved so that it was actually perfectly aligned with his chest. He had no idea how that was supposed to work, but screw it, like Ashley, he cringed and: _fuck the rules._ It burned a little and churned like orange flame until satisfied.

With popping noises, time gears came studded from a number of directions and their green, gem-like embodiments landed neatly in the stack in his arms. A couple soared through Ashley's head, another her stomach. It was painful to watch as her head lowered and those flaming orbs checked out for... for what had to be the last time. And she whispered it again. "Fuck the rules." And she went on.

"Fuck fate, too. Fuck them all, for putting us where we are. If I could have anything, I'd want a quiet life with you without any of this shit coming back at all. Dammit... I only wish I could have told you that I love you before this happened."

He squeaked. "I love you, Ashley!" And she smiled.

"I know."

But she didn't know, they could never fit together, never understand: and either way, she was leaving him: forever.

As if she knew her time had come, and she really didn't want those to be her last words, Ashley quickly blurted out a couple other phrases of her own creation.

"Well that was one fucking ride I hope I'll get shitted into again." A glimmer of amusement. "Woo, hell.  
"I hope one day my ass will start burning again. That's bound to be a good sign."

Of what, the innocent bystander may ask? Life. But of course this life was not granted, and before his eyes, the only creature he'd ever wanted to love for, and ever would want to love for, to share that connection and bond with: she was gone. And he was supposed to forget about her and never, never see her again. A numb sense overtook Munchie as he stayed there, sitting splayed out, on the tower, and stared into nothing for a great deal of time.

Then he stood up and sauntered down the trail to the tower's top. Nothing strayed in his path, and nothing intercepted him.

He was alone again, and if one looked close enough and understood him well enough, they saw that in his glassy, hope-blue eyes, he didn't like it at all.

 **Me: :3 So how was that?**

 **Munchie: My eyes are not hope-rimmed anymore.**

 **Me: Heck yeah. They're just plain old hope now.**

 **Munchie: I don't know how to feel.**

 **Me: Good. For all people who didn't want this to be the ending, GUESS WHAT, WE HAVE EXACTLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT! THE EPILOOGGUEEEE! x3**

 **Munchie: … I just don't know how to feel, man...**


	10. Epilogue:Forever's Sort of a Possibility

**Me: here it is.**

 **Characters: …**

 **Me: who's feeling overly emotional? -raises hand-**

 **Influence: dammit, don't you always feel that way?  
**

 **Byrender: I think it gets worse'r somethin' when she's about to finish a story.**

 **Spirit: -loud snort- HAH, I'D LIKE TO SEE HER FALL IN LOVE.**

 **Me: owo yeahthat'sgreat -shoves him back quickly-**

 **Jalendalynne: -at a loss of a lot of things. Stares all dazed and confused-**

 **Me: ...good enough. Who's ready for me to start the last chapter?**

 **Influence: -walks out the door-**

 **Ashley: -yanks him back in-**

A Deaf Flame's Flicker

Chapter Ten: Epilogue: Forever's Sort of a Possibility

Deep breath, he told himself, deep breath. It would keep him going. Keep him living. Grunting, he shoved his chin over the weight of the stack of gem-like creations hefted in his arms, scruffy blue fur ruffling in the weight and momentum. Nothing else to do but continue on, he instructed himself. Tastelessly, the words pattered on, imprinted and repeated in his head, but he couldn't live them through. For one, his physical assertion constricted and he was tired. Another, it simply felt unruly to do this. Still, no one else was around. Apparently, nobody cared as much as he did, and this was all he had left at the moment. Staring at the temporary singe of fur on his chest, shifting on its own like a hypnotic pattern, his hope-blue orbs blinked stubbornly and his feet motioned further. Further: further from the tower fate had just stuck there for many different sore reasons, further from the resting places of souls that would never exist in peace—not even a rest-in-peace—again, further from the strawberry-colored bruises throbbing in his eyes, in his vision, further from the knot of string connecting him to what had come. And as far as he pushed, as far as he went, it stayed sound and attached to him. Soon enough, it was supposed to be forgotten, its existence irrelevant and meaningless. It should have been. It was from the past, a past that had ground up into memory: this memory planted with seeds of the future. A happier future than the one predicted, like a forecast of storms swerved and replaced by clear, blue skies. A blue not unlike the one his eyes had taken over. He felt the burn on his chest would eventually fade away, but his eyes looked solid enough. Strange. Calling his own eyes solid. He felt uncomfortable thinking about it, so he didn't, and he clenched his precious metals closer to his chest, his heart, in their ambling stack, the sextuplets with sextuplet the number of gear lines sticking out. He had one last journey, and then it was all over, whether he accepted it or not.

But this path in its own was necessary. Without it, the world may as well fall to turmoil again, yet he wouldn't have that. The fate in his hands wouldn't allow it. He felt profusely sure no one would duly, truly take note of what had occurred in his life or accept what had come, and honestly, that was okay. He wasn't a hero. He was just himself, and he just had one last trek and he could be done with it all—forever, if he would. Honestly, he didn't know if he wanted it to end. One hand suggested the peace and comfort it would bring to his ill mind. The other suggested he continued living in the ebbing rays of passion in his heart. Some of it would never leave, even though a lot of other things have happened—and a lot of other things will happen, one day. That day, though, he commemorated, was not today. Not in this moment. One journey left, and it was done.

The lone boy simply had a few areas to step into and deposit the small things he held in his grip that determined whether the world lived or turned dark—rancid, lost in a screwed version of beauty, a devoured version of beauty. He had a fixed set of places to go to and he could go as quickly or slowly as he wished. The boy could easily rattle them off of his head. A sextuplet of magical places, the hotspot of his home and what the vast majority of his island reigned in. He labeled them, sticking out both hands and fumbling as he counted on his fingers around the stack of gem-like treasures: Waterfall Cave, Point Shinely of Foggy Forest, Pine Nut Volcano, Southern Desert, Great Shiku Tree, Devaur. Each their own unique entities. Most had something to do with plantlike matter, which he found humorous because the honest-to-goodness majority of those magic-laden spaces were waters, beaches, sands. He was at an idle point of view. Thumbing over his fingers, a cut of pink tongue sticking out in fervent concentration, he deliberated the most efficient journey of his would be to start by going a direct south and then plowing about the bottom coves of the big sister of the deserts—Southern—until finding the holy pedestal or whatever consecrated entity it was: the embodiment of the time gear, and then he would place it.

He thought longer, feeling it'd be rather safer to plan ahead before moving on. He would have to go far east and then a northeast cut until intercepting the rear end of the Foggy Forest—having never gone that far from the west point and area, where his original home and most everything else sat, he brimmed with tactful excitement—and thus reach Shinely, and thus crown the next time gear. After, a straight north and slight curve west would bring the small cove of palm trees and then the oak: Great Shiku Tree. Plowing on westward would reveal the coarse, turquoise plains of Devaur filled with naught but clear skies, fuzzy grass tips and sand bars, and a lot of empty nothing. Apparently another time gear had a home in that sort of domain. Moving on, crooking himself south and west, just above his home—his heart began to race just a little at the thought of it—he'd cross over to his favorite Mystery Dungeon, the Waterfall Cave, and return that time gear as well. He didn't dwell over any other memories in that place and ended his journey plotting plans to meet and reunite with those in Treasure Town he loved so dearly and then take off straight south and end in the Pine Nut Volcano.

Once it had finished, he could honestly go anywhere. Live anywhere. Be wherever he felt to be: it mattered not. Anywhere he'd been would take him in, and, he began to realize, anywhere he'd go would accept him. Simply because they shared the taste in Mystery Dungeon-esque life and the love of it. Nobody would truly know him except for those back in the far west though, so he didn't know how much he'd like to take off like that, be so alone. Maybe it'd be nice, though. He... could go anywhere he wanted to, truthfully. Anywhere he decided he wanted to go, from then on, he could go. He could see, do, he could be. Wordlessly, nobody mentioned why he had this sudden, wonderful, gleeful logic, to distance himself like so. It... would hurt to think about it. It already hurt. A wordless hurt, a silent ache, one that continued inside of him. A silence he would forever notice.

Maybe... time made it stop hurting. Maybe it got better as did the days. Maybe his blooming distance would recover and he'd suck in a breath and nod his head, do something, one day. Well... that day was not today, either. He didn't even know if that day would ever exist again. It looked so far away, so distant, furthermore distant than he'd gone, and it was cotton in his head to think of it. His heart went silent in his chest again, and without further ado, nothing else to do but try and stop thinking about it, try to stop letting it pester him, he went on. The goals in his head swiveled halfheartedly, not asking—begging—pleading—whispering to be followed. They sat there and didn't serve much of a purpose. He didn't really even try. The breaths came and went, but he couldn't feel them and didn't try to focus on them and find out. The only reason he knew he was still alive was because he just did. If he'd died, it would be different. Everything would be different. Perhaps. But it wasn't. So he lived. And he still had this road to travel.

Colors sanded away at the back of his head as atmospheres changed and different Mystery Dungeons twisted and melded back before starting anew as different entities of magic, their own special sparkles and glimmers and strangeness, to that. Their own special strangeness. Nodding securely, he lumbered on until the more miniscule structured webbed up and formed the sandy pathway down slopes and far south into the steaming belly of the Southern Desert. He stopped for a papaya tree on the brink of the sun-baked yellow grounds and munched contentedly on those, not quite recalling what his last meal had been, prior to stepping in the sunny, steamy depths. It didn't take too many lost days of stumbling and mumbling and bumbling before he found a hidden, leafy confine in the earth and saw it to be a small, purified oasis brimming with thick, healthy effects. The deep brown-trunked palm trees hung their shifting leaves high and mighty, delivering shade in the desert. He drank water like he never had before and took the methodical pressing and placing of the time gears into the oasis pool until they didn't fling out erratically and one of them stuck, and with a click, signaled that this was a safe haven once again, and no... monsters... would return to disturb it. He only saw the stubborn silhouettes of green-eyed sand creatures—sandile, the brown quadrupled creatures were called—and more of such greenies to spare.

He hiked up and out of those stubborn dunes, his fur never quite losing the gristly feel of sand in his hide, not quite minding the rough texture all the same, and scampered a little more north and up further until delving into the cool, calm depths of a forest of trees he could hardly even see, due to the unruly fog beckoning his way. The Foggy Forest now permeated the vast majority of his vision. Recalling that this large area of wisp and tree was the last ring of Mystery Dungeon before one dipped into the Hidden Lands and reached where he had just been, just ended himself prior to the start of his final journey, he chortled softly to himself. It was a little funny, a little sad, was sad. Truthfully, he didn't know what at all to think and felt discontented on his own. But still, swimming through thickset streams of the cool, white air, the scruffy one emerged and gasped his way, sauntering up on top of a small though big—big for the Mystery Dungeon's mostly miniature and cute—hillock, where a clear, empty bubble connected by its own shimmering substance was all that held the next time gear. He went though his process, eventually one fell into place, and, gathering the other—indestructible—time gears, the still homeless brethren, he was off again.

Never have coming close—so close—to this eastern realm of his home, he was tempted to stop and sightsee. But he didn't. He was in a world that wasn't quite the time or place for stopping and sightseeing, simply marveling the atmosphere out here to the other side of his great island: his world. He dodged past the numerous sorts of trees until shoreline swam into view and easily found the leaves of canopy from winding branches, using the long line of cover to help find himself a Great Shiku Tree. The boy blinked to himself, soon finding if he tucked his chin on the right spot and kicked up his knees, he could scale that monster without dropping anything and thus requiring to start over. Or, at least, his notions would make it somewhat simpler. So because he saw nothing else to do, his hands connected with warm, worn, raw bark, and planted a seed of life into his soul for a second. The plant never found its chance to sprout, as it fell from the boy's scruffy self and never managed its metaphorical stem to crawl in. It was okay, though. It was his fault, not some cute seed's. Shaking himself, he took his hands and spread them, and hunched awkwardly for his time gears to be secure, and using his limbs, flailing in a sort of dance-like pattern, clambered up hard, gnarled wood. Sunbeams came in gentle, waving bursts he was thankful for, and they scuttled, settling upon his back as it shifted in the slight breeze. Somehow, at some miraculous point in his life, the boy reached the top of the tree and shifted through the branches until he found a basket weaved into its leafy confines and deposited time gears until one clicked into place and then he was halfway done with his strange little walk. Sighting that there had been stairs carved delicately inside of the tree trunk all along and nigh calling himself stupid, he backed down on that safer way and escaped through a knot and a curve in the massive, brown creature.

And up next, it was those plains he's heard of, but never quite seen—and after that, the road to home would become visible. He'd start to really recognize things, and that caught his heart up in a tangled, pumping tizzy. Just the thought of it—of seeing stuff he'd seen so much of prior, of lining up dusty, old memories and feeling them click in place—it almost felt wrong. It shouldn't have felt wrong, but it was going to for reasons he didn't want to dwell on. At some point, the emotions would catch up with him. At some point, he wouldn't be able to escape the overflowing sensation of loss. But dumb, numbing shock and cold, collective realization dulled it at the moment. Somewhere inside of him, he was already a lot worse than he was, wordlessly dodging old ideals and kicking back things that hurt to think about. Hurt to know about—everything hurt because of it. Shamefully shaking his head side to side with a _whumff, whumff, whumff,_ he regained enough of himself to move into the Devaur Plains of turquoise, purple and minty or dark greenish coloring reflecting upon fields of naturally cut-down grasses nigh as short as the earth they stuck into. Due to coloring and an abundance of such grasses, one still couldn't see the dirt just below their feet. The grass utterly carpeted what was hidden underneath his feet, and anyone else's that took step into the plains. He thus assumed there was a chink, a crack in this guise, and that would find him the place to remove and return another of the time gear brethren. His feet stomped and scuffed around on gentle slopes and fields, but so far no such luck. As the time passed by, he eventually had to stop and find a nearby bushel filled with truculent-looking fruit that tasted healthy and regular enough but had gnarled roots and tough skin. He mostly just ate the skin as was, being that was how he worked, and it was quite filling skin, too, and he ate the roots as well, and the pulp inside was like a sweet, sugary princess or something for him.

It didn't matter in his heart, though. Nothing really mattered. Duly noted, he lifted his head, shook it a little more, and continued his tiring scuffing of feet and aimless searching of something, anything, in the midst of the Devaur Plains that could hold a time gear. Once he started losing hope on his ability to find anything, he unplugged the time gears from their stack and began waving them around, an idiot smile plastered on his face because he would have felt shameful and stupid if he could feel at the time. Sure enough, something cold and slick came like holy light down from the clouds above and snatched a time gear, thoroughly enforcing it with layers upon layers of white foam and laying it somewhat high in the sky. It was a frozen cloud that never moved. That had to be the strangest one yet. Having no idea what to say in the matter, words dried up on his tongue, he turned back and left the plains, passing by that bushel of fruit from prior as he crossed boundaries and even began meshing into and through puddles as he went on, reminding him of the Brine Cave. He honestly had forgotten where that one was, though. It didn't mean all that much.

Listlessly, with no feeling, his fingers thumbed through his last couple of time gears and he stared deep into their swirling depths of glimmering green. Each one did have the same basic color, but those wispy entities inside, the embodiment of this hallowed thing, shifted and changed each passing moment, and neither looked anything alike up close, no matter how truly related they were. The one on the bottom of the stack caught his eye, and he surely enough began to slowly recognize the patterns in it. Having been to the Waterfall Cave in saving grace of it prior—he skipped over and blotted out the rest of the memory mercilessly—he did recall enough to know what the heck he was looking for. Proudly, he trotted up and through the crashing waves booming down from silvery rocks, fur slipping downward in wet weight, and calmly traversed the strange starts then depths of the puddling, befuddling cavern. He knew this one and its song-like verses of plips and plops and puddles, and it didn't take long to seek out the gentle, silvery-white pedestal sitting at the bottom corridor of the place. It was supposed to be a long and harrowing journey—one he happened to have already taken—and he simply remembered things. Memories threatened to capsize; he struggled back and shook himself. It was getting to him—it always had been—always would—but he was in the moment, and he could pretend it didn't.

Placing it on its glittering, floral throne, he stepped back, eyed it gently, nodded to himself, and clambered back up. He deliberated to stay with his friends after Pine Nut Volcano regained its own embodiment and all peace was restored, then he'd feel better about the state of the world. For the sake of reasons he didn't want to look back on, he wanted to know the world was at peace prior to anything else. For... for someone. Okay, he lessened it, for _her._ And it was. He quickly made work searching about the innards of the steaming hot volcano, avoiding red-hot streaming lava for the life of him and trying not to touch the walls so much or leave his foot in one place too long. Already, blisters began to boil. They twinged a little, hurt some, but he got over them relatively well. Wasn't all that big of a deal, honestly, he mumbled to himself, sifting past cracks in the lava chains and finally pushing that stubborn time gear into a burbling lava pit, just in the middle where it stuck up on land gleefully. Snorting at how happy an inanimate object looked, his eyes gouged past and he took the trail back out of the heat-blazing volcano and shook himself out some, then wound his way back toward the entrance to Treasure Town. He may as well say hi, while he was in the area.

It felt strange to go back home without—someone—there with him, but he swallowed it back down. Nothing he could do about it. Nothing you could do, so just hold your head high about it and try to make the best of it. Problem was, he wasn't the optimist, never quite was, more pessimistic than optimistic and not in a way realistic, but he wasn't too bad on the lower side. More of misgivings, more of insulting himself regularly—though for reasons that didn't seem to happen much anymore. He wasn't sure what would go back to how he was before, but he didn't want any of it to stay, and he didn't want any of it to change, either. He liked where he was, but the most important part of his life was already gone, and he couldn't get it back. He was supposed to forget about her, but his eyes were so light now and he couldn't forget about something as strange as that. His time gear burn had finally melded away, but thinking of it reminded him of her as well. Thinking about what was once there...

Perhaps they'd remember her too after seeing their friend with strangely light blue eyes. There had always been a rim, but not until quite recently had they gone so bright, so... such a hopeful blue. Such a complete light sky of blue swamped them, now, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted that to always stay. He didn't quite understand how it worked—he was sure the reason they turned blue didn't understand it either—but he just remembered some of her last words and smiled to himself a little bit. He didn't know what would happen now that he couldn't forget—never forget—none of anything else even mattered, but her, he couldn't forget—but... something might. He didn't know. Or maybe it would just give him nightmares. He didn't remember the last time he slept.

A voice called him on. It was a girl, a girl he knew relatively well, her height towering over him but she was still a pretty cool girl. Long strands of turquoise hair flung down her back and over her shoulders and her bangs eternally covered her eyes, and she smiled and waved her green hands and porcelain face. He smiled somewhat back and then she ran up and, falling to her knees, tackled him in a sudden hug and popped a sisterly peck on his cheek. Okay great she remembered him. He'd heard when... when his loss stopped existing, everyone was supposed to stop as well. Apparently that was not the case. Her eyes, under those bangs, struck him dead in her scythe-like arms. She told him of how much they felt like something had been missing but couldn't quite tell until her eyes landed on his, and they were bright. And it meant something, and then his name came to her mind and she used it and he tried not to flinch from it, from hearing the word that defined him. It didn't feel right at the time. Maybe it wouldn't ever feel right again. Only time could tell. She asked him how he'd been and he said oh he was good, and they didn't mention anything about being a hero or saving the world, none of that junk. It wasn't really true. They had done what they had done, and that was what they did. And that was... that was that. All there really was to it.

Anyway, he felt like a lousy hero, if that was even it. Wasn't, though, he didn't think so. His dear friend led him up to the trail now completely diverting Treasure Town because who needed those nincompoops and up the new, dusky-cut path leading up and then left and up and up and up the tall hill that did overlook Treasure Town, but also a great view of the start of the world, and it took his breath away. He'd been away from these things for a long time, and somewhere inside of him, memories had clicked and tied together and, yeah, it was a little nice to see those things again, admittedly. It did happen to be a little nice to remember. But it also hurt and he also wasn't sure of how much he liked it. In the end, he decided he couldn't trust himself going down the ladders in his old home, so he sat on the outside of the white-and-fiery tent and waited, and the rest of these pokemon he knew so well sat with him. They were quite knowledgeable about one another. Like the pokemon of Treasure Town, they had to stick together.

The stoic elgyem that nobody remembered—species, that was, he was a special creature; the deep, jazzy-voiced bibarel; the mudkip princess; the murderess female gallade; the gay, strangely-colored wigglytuff; the also-gay but he was hilariously awkward chatot; him, as well. He fit right in. The skinny, self-conscious munchlax. Nobody mentioned anyone else, though they knew someone else had once fit in their ranks. Some things were best left unsaid, but everyone still felt it, understood it, in the charged air wrapped about them. Some things didn't have to be spoken, and they were still shared. This was one of those things.

In their own way of showing the care they still harbored and would always feel clenched inside of them, his friends complimented him on his eyes. They all immediately recognized the plain difference in color, and understood it was by no normal means did they change. The sun, magic as it was to their eyes, didn't bleach irises like so. Sure, it blinded, but it didn't bleach. And the sparkles of flame everyone saw except for the one adorning—it was rather hard to see one's own eyes—just sort of proved it. The missing cramped up in them would always be there because it was painstakingly obvious that not even in death did they stand a chance of finding the one they'd all nigh forgotten—except for he. Because he couldn't. She's bestowed that upon him, and he wore it like a crown, the inability to lose her forever from his mind. Or at all, honestly. The more he thought about her, the more clouds began rising inside of him, darkening like black, wispy monsters and churning electric emotions popping of static. They made small talk of kindly things and larger talk of the one gay overly teasing his lover in which a yelling spat ensued, but he loved those guys and it was great to hear of them again. Someone had given the guild master packets of apple tea either from threaten or thanking a time ago, and someone else from the guild had already poured some hot water in preparation of the coming time, and so it was brewed and the sweet, natural scent of apples wafted both through brimming, steaming hot tea and the scent, thick of it. He slowly wondered if the leader of their strange little guild smelled like apples so often, and that was how everyone met in the first place—well, except for himself and—and another exception he didn't voice. The scent of sweet, succulent apples bloomed all about them either way. A dreamy sort of grin etched across the boy's cheeks.

He stayed longer than planned in the end and bid farewell to the others, knowing that he would surely come back again one day. They did mean a lot to him, but... he didn't think about it but he melded in so well with everyone he met, and by the by, he had other companies to assort with until he could go find himself somewhere quiet to sit with his thoughts and bask. Or perhaps not bask but miss. As the night grew thick about him, he stumbled down the new path and eventually warbled off into the wispy call of the Foggy Forest all over again, but only on the white-strewn tips, for as he focused his mind onto it and steered himself straightforward in motion and thinking, focused and divinely ready, he found the great mansion in the hill, appearing small and quaint at first until one entered through the crook of the elaborate teak doors and saw how it expanded vastly both underground and out, through the hill. Bumbling along corridors eventually led him into the arms of another dear friend, a short—though tall for herself—one with bright pink cheeks and fuzzy, yellow fur tinged in black. The cute little being and he stayed up late into the night as they found her room and they chatted about useless and useful things alike, simply enjoying the fact that they'd found each other again. He stayed for a short time there, still without meeting the girl's parents but being able to see a fair share of both sunrises and sunsets through the grand glass windows in her room, even opening them and standing out on a balcony that spread and cupped the world around them.

Pretty, he used the term countless times. Chancing upon her dressers, the boy duly noted they were shining and had that extra layer of white paint to really burst with finesse and glamor. He didn't know much of the sort, but it seemed to fit right for her. Even still, he bid this dear friend farewell as well, seeing then a pattern that had emerged. He could fit in anywhere, even in the sewers of Treasure Town had he been secure, even without realizing it. But he never truly felt safe and happy—it didn't matter where he was. It mattered with whom was by his side. And it seemed he'd never feel that true sense of belonging ever again. He could mosh with all of the pokemon he wanted to and feel content enough: but there was nobody, _nobody_ , like her. Nobody ever would match in his eyes. So he bowed to the mannerly pichu again and she bowed back, finally letting fly a small comment on his skyline eyes prior to his leave. He smiled at that for a moment, before reality took him and shook him by the shoulders, and it was set that the reason his eyes were so bright now wouldn't show again. She'd told him to... to... oh, screw it, to _fuck the rules_ , and here he was now. And he missed her. Perhaps she would have always had that thick, oily, black barrier keeping them from truly uniting, but he'd rather have she and her barrier than nothing at all. The only reason he held onto her still was because of his eyes. His eyes; what a peculiar thing to say. The one thing she'd left behind.

So she saw him off and in a twist of events, he decided to check in on that marvelous kingdom, painted like a picture in his mind, a picture that had learned how to speak and called out for him to take another glance at the orange-dyed sun and sky, lying like a blanket along every last angle in that bountiful landscape and its shores and seas of beauty and the seashells studded in sand, the homes made of both planks and sandstone and the occasional patch of fabric—multicolored stains of beautiful fabric that just made it even nicer, somehow. The rural, quiet, and aspiring kingdom—the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn. The boy on his silent adventure stopped by upon the grand castle behind with its sparkling, sand walls doused in shells and surprisingly lilies that were well-congenial and accepted those odd, pink-and-white flowers warmly. Somehow, it worked. After reaching the tops of the short but long staircase—short-sized steps but long hill to clamber up—he mustered enough courage to stick his head in and be welcomed quickly and pulled in by all sorts of charming laddies and lassies. He stumbled along someone in a dark cloak who he almost called out to but was pulled into turmoil again, squeaking for the guy with the green face and the cloak to come back and yet he didn't and it made him sad. But honestly, thinking back, the shorter creature had the eye of a hunter in him, that one with the cloak, and he wasn't sure about that. True emotion was spilled when he ran into the prince of Fyshyngtyn and his new occult. They held up scraps of tree bark and waved them around in the air, screeching the most unruly enchantments. He recognized nobody in this new occult of the prince's—his young sister was right in that he changed quickly; his parents were right in that the last one had been by far his kindest and most hopeful for him to become a better personality. It suddenly made sense why he wasn't instructed to become king and that throne was skipped down to his little sister.

Sure, some parents believed in oldest child gaining all. Others had the wit to wait and see which one turned out to be the most promising, or the one that most enjoyed what they were looking for. And were exceptions made, exceptions could be cut in. Love must have been awesome, not only familial but all intimate with gooey emotions in relationships, and the love of dear friends who could say anything without worry, and then there's the love of per se a king to his kingdom, as well. And the love of a franchise, like the prince to his occultism. Love was everywhere. But the one time it truly mattered for the boy staring now dull and soft and quiet and leaking of somber sorrow, the one time he held it and nigh, so close, it hovered just above his palm: he lost it. His hopes were left dashed, like those of a newborn pokemon when it learned it would never be able to become a legendary. But these ran deeper than a childlike spirit of bouncy playfulness: deep inside the crevices of his heart, dragging down into the pit of his soul. Not knowing what else to do, he sucked in a deep breath and let it all out. Painful chips of emotion rattled inside of him.

He did see the king and the queen, and dear arceus, they really loved each other. He swore, there wasn't a moment they weren't side by side and smiling and just radiating this sense where everyone thought they were just so cute. Well, good thing they were always seen, then, because when a king and a queen have a closeness like that and the folks always see that: sometimes it rejuvenates an old, cold soul. A frozen loss warming back to life, or... like... watering dead grass because they were water types and his jokes had become just as bad as his gay leader back at home. The boy shook himself and left the dancing to the folks of Fyshyngtyn. He did belong, but yet he didn't. When one fit in everywhere, finding the one thing they truly longed for in life didn't come so easily. And it didn't. And it was gone, for him. Gone with the darkness of the world.

At some point or another, after the marvelous, enticing seas and sands of Fyshyngtyn had been left behind, the boy continued simply wandering for a time. He had a brisk gait so the stroll was warming but he never stayed in a single place for long, and it was easier that way, just wandering amok without a care, and it kept any thoughts that chased him so surely away. The sights he saw began to blur and didn't stick with his memory all that well. They smudged over the hard knot in his mind that was everything beforehand. Colors and thoughts clashed irregularly and nothing mattered all that much. He ate. He moved. He was alive, sure. But his hope-colored orbs felt off, felt wrong, felt missing. A piece of the boy had died somewhere. He couldn't even stand hearing his own name for some reason—surely, that... that had to mean something. He felt lost, alone—insane, stone... He felt wrong. Something was missing from him and he didn't like it. By sheer fate or luck or miraculous twist single-handed striking him down, those shards of thunder in his clouded mind befuddled and twisted and tossed away, torn down, not a droplet of understanding remaining, his lone figure particularly collapsed in a spot he could recognize. It took a few blinks of his mind, of his eyes, took some stares from pinkish, rock-like entities with eyes—greenies—the color of time gears shredding into him with meek curiosity, those freaking greenies that scared the heck out of him—but he audibly gasped that they weren't a corsola but a krabby crew—there the boy had fallen on the end of a cliff overlooking a peak he'd never seen before.

He thought he knew all of the trails in the Beach Cave. Apparently not. This one, looming high in the air through a corridor and balcony of coral he'd never even seen before, stuck out on a perfectly edged corner that supplied both a place to rest his back and a way to sit and look out—and it was... it was that time again. Not the set of the sun but a sunrise, spiking slowly, gingerly, above the waters in front of him. It was then he realized he must have been in another Beach Cave on the other side of Zundentun, for his special place only provided ample view of the sun setting over sea, not hatching over and spilling the world in its brilliant glow. Coated in sparkling, golden waves, the boy stared out with this drastic awe. Pastel colors, not the bright, rippling ones he usually saw, but gentle pinks and blues popping through one another, splattered by hues of generous purple that spilled over and tainted the sky until it meshed and the yellow glowed and an orange fire in the sky fiercely roared until it became evident that blue, the eggshell, hope-colored blue of the rim around the world, would return soon. The other colors began to ebb in their dramatic, scenic play, as the pecking baby blues joined in and quietly took over. There they were.

Seeing this reminded him of something else. He couldn't even feel the tears in his eyes, but they came and went as the sunrise came in. He was shaking slightly, and his heart ached, and in his ears, a single name called, one he wasn't allowed to hear. A creature's face stamped in his head, one he wasn't supposed to see. No one was supposed to remember her, but he had to. He couldn't handle this—this not only loss of _her_ but the lost of her _entire existence_ as was. He couldn't take the loss and it caught up to him and squeezed his soul taut and he hated it, absolutely hated it. He just wanted her back. He wanted her back in his life. He was broken without her—he wasn't broken with her, he was broken now that she had gone. And it ached.

Oh, how it ached inside of him, like tendrils pushing down on all sides, pulling him in, compressing his heart and squeezing and blurring his vision. His head went down and his eyes stared at nothing but the purgatory he was left to. Alone. So hopelessly alone without her. No matter who he'd belonged with at the time, be it the guild or the pichu or the future or the stupid grovyle nobody even remotely seemed to recall or the dusknoir even—again with no recognition whatsoever—whatever was going on in his life, he'd had her. And that was what mattered.

Curled up in a weak ball, head against his knees, body shaking, practically convulsing, shivering, shuddering, feeling pain splatter upon it and it wouldn't let go, continued to yank at him _by his tongue_. He could never let go, and she was gone, and it hurt.

Nothing else hurt more than that did. Nothing else would ever hurt so much. He'd tried to recover from it, he'd tried to let it go, he'd tried to forget about her, he'd tried to remember all of his friends, he'd tried to run away from it all, he'd tried to lose it.

No matter what he did, she was always there in his head, and that was all she would ever be. And she didn't belong there, because she no longer existed. Quietly, he decided he'd let himself hear it, and he whispered to nobody but his own soul that life wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. Everything was different and he didn't like it at all and his throat clogged up and it wasn't the same, and it never would be the same, because everything changed. But he couldn't live with just memories dancing around inside of him. He needed more than that.

Slowly, as the understanding seeped into him like a blanket and helped hug him close, helped him mop back the tears and stop shaking, the boy raised his head and his hope-stained tears of eyes, and all of the sifting pain in them, and it hurt, it did, it hurt. But there simply was nothing else he could do about it. Ashley—he'd said it—Ashley... He shook his head no. And he sucked in a breath. And he began to calm himself down again. Eventually, not even the tears remained, and he just stared into a sunrise that appeared to have slowed down and stopped moving, and his breathing was soft, and he was calm, and he was... he was... He simply was.

And before the boy's eyes, a final rip tore into the sky and out fell a beautiful soul the color of—he couldn't even tell what, but it fell and landed with a _pouffff_ in the sand and its ears wriggled in discontent. Squishy ears, a pale color. The creature, he saw, as he bounded closer, smelled of absolutely nothing. Just fresh air, fresh birth, fresh... what was it? What was this thing? Something from the—the future? But his heartbeat picked up and suddenly the creature spluttered in its fetal position, puling the softest it could, shivering to itself as flecks of ocean waves cascaded upon its poor, cold body. It wasn't quite tall, but seemed even shorter due to its longer, orange-furred legs and shorter arms. Judging by the sort of gait it had, it wouldn't be able to stand on just its legs, though it appeared to count as an orange, bipedal creature. The orange bob of hair around its head coming down first in scattered bangs then short, to-the-chin scattered locks of hair, and there was also this knot of longer hair in the back, smaller, that scattered slightly as well. The boy, now that he knew other pokemon, didn't blush as he stared down upon its cute face. He once did, when someone else fell from a rift. But this was different, wasn't it? The future couldn't disturb the past any longer; Dusknoir, he'd already been banished, and he was the only connection they had. Plus, they didn't exist. That overhang of darkness, that screwed future—whatever it was, it was gone.

Flaming orbs tentatively peeped open, and the girl squeaked in sight of him. When their eyes locked, he suddenly knew who it was, and looking into those orbs, he saw that she didn't know who _he_ was. She... He realized quietly that this was Ashley, and she wasn't cursing, she wasn't upright and fiery and sparkling or any of the sort. She was shivering, and she was petrified, and she was puling in fear. Her ears wriggled again, and he soon recognized that she was still deaf—no. No... wait. He paused. Because of her father, she was deaf. And at that moment—they weren't wriggling because she didn't hear, they were wriggling because this was the first time she'd ever heard before. And her memories had completely spilled over and her missing ear had returned and everything about her that was from where she was from: it no longer existed. She... Why was she here? Was it—because—he was supposed to let go—and he didn't? Still, blackened memories chewed into him about Ashley's past, and he realized she no longer had anything like that barrier.

Judging from the jolt in his chest and the blush on his face, she was still the exact same soul he'd met in the sunset on the opposite Beach Cave. Their souls were still the same souls. Searching into those fearful, flaming orbs, he also recognized something.

A hand raised to his chest, and he whispered gently in his soft tone with the husk, "I..." A rapid point. "Am..." He didn't know what to do to show that word so he was kind of still. "Munchie." And he pointed again. Munchie pointed at himself again for emphasis.

He recognized that she was still the same identity, deep within her soul, and so was he, and there was no way he was letting her out of his sight again. Never.

From that first attempt of conversation with the completely washed girl, he deliberated he'd use words like _I_ and _am_ once he set up the basics. Her orbs fogged and her long, sand-colored fingers poked at her own chest quizzically. Yeah, he needed help. Munchie took her hand from her own chest and slowly pointed toward his own self with both of their hands entwined. "Munchie." Recognition began to dawn on her face, but not the one he wished he could have seen. It was a recognition of what the heck the Munchie thing was, not that her memories would return. He silently understood that her memories would never come back. And if he recalled her well enough, from the past: she would have wanted it to be this way, if her "past self" could have seen this. She would have wanted complete and utter loss of the future that had permanently scarred her, and she would have wanted this chance to be with Munchie, and Munchie alone, for as long as... as ever, really.

To his surprise, her other hand rose and pointed with her first one. And she whispered in her own voice, quietly, unsure, shy, afraid: "Munchie..." He nodded and repeated to show that she was doing right. Ashley, surprised with her sudden knowledge, bobbled her head back awkwardly, not really sure what that meant. Oh, of course she didn't know what a nod was. Well, whatever. She knew absolutely nothing, and it had become Munchie's job to teach her all over again. He was sure sometimes it might get painful, but—seeing this side of her... It made him think that she wasn't going to begin yelling, and there wasn't going to be an aggravation.

He wanted to find them a place to stay, where she wouldn't have to feel so exposed and afraid, and he could let her know that that was their safe place and they could stay there together—but she didn't even know her own name. Quickly, getting giddy, trying to test her, he used a thickly questioning tone: "Who... _am... I_..?" Then, pointing to himself, asked it again: "...Who?"

"Hoo, hoo," she stumbled over the words, echoing giddily. He should have waited. He should have waited. Of course that was dumb and wouldn't help her. Munchie shook her hands back and forth and instead taught her another phrase that he thought might help, and it sounded simple. "No."

"No?"

"No." Giving a more stern glimpse, he shook his head tight. "No."

She blinked. That, at least, appeared to stick. A hand fell from his chest and rose to hers. "No Munchie." No Munchie. She... she was basically letting him know that she wasn't Munchie. Well, it wasn't going to be easy teaching her every single word ever, but he had to start somewhere, and no Munchie looked like a good place to get in a few basic things. So Munchie nodded, repeating it while his hands went then to her fingers and her chest, because she was _no Munchie_. He desperately wanted to tell her she was _not_ Munchie, but didn't know if that might confuse her or not. He decided to leave that for another day. Grammar didn't matter at the moment.

Then he realized this was his chance. "No... Ashley." And his hands flickered to his own chest. "No Ashley." Of course her head cocked and her gaze blurred at that, because she was probably thinking something like _what the heck is ashley_ but he had a solution to that, and his hands moved to her chest again, and he said softly, "Ashley." Recognition spiked again, and excitement drew into her voice as she squeaked and repeated him and his little exercise, soon well rehearsed in a couple of very plain things: she was not Munchie; she was Ashley. No Munchie; Ashley. And he, he was no Ashley; Munchie. She now knew that she, out of everything in the world, wasn't Munchie. But hey, it was a start. He'd probably have a heck of a time teaching her that she wasn't sand, or grass, or water, either. Or maybe she'd get the hang of it. He had no idea, but whatever, he wasn't letting go ever again. He felt... whole, now, with her return. When Munchie first awakened from his idiot self-esteem issues and befriended the very same chimchar, he never truly lost her until that moment she stopped existing. And seeing her gone, and knowing her gone: it took his breath away, and no matter how much he'd refilled his lungs, they would never be full again, they would always ache.

And there she was. Nothing in the universe could keep him away. Munchie slowly trotted onward through the sand in satisfactory _skish, skish_ noises, deciding he'd tell her what a shoreline was later—she had a lot to learn and it wasn't gonna be easy but they'd get through it—when he realized his footsteps hadn't been accompanied. Glittering, hope-filled orbs turned back and saw her standing there, raised on the sand, her entire body shaking like he'd just—a-abandoned her. No, he wasn't doing that. Oh, stupid Munchie assumed she'd just follow him. Stupid. Stupid. Sucking in a breath, he gently began opening up his arms and told her softly, "Safe." And he smiled a little, too, trying to be kind, trying to show her it'd be okay. She didn't seem to quite understand, but her flaming orbs buzzed a little. Munchie thought more on the matter, then _skished_ back his way toward the sweet girl and extended his hands. Somehow, by instinct or some other mechanism, she saw this and her hands extended too, and then they were overlapping, and unlike the first time he'd ever touched Ashley—how about he didn't remember the day he stuck his hand in her mouth—he didn't let go, and he didn't ever—ever want to. "Trust." Again, gentle, soft. His orbs glimmered softly down upon the chimchar, and a sudden warmth surged in his heart, just seeing her there, knowing she was here with him on the earth again and—she was unblemished of the future. Every barrier she'd felt that time ago had been flushed away. And... every single memory she made from the very beginning would have started with him. He'd get to... always be there for her. "Trust Munchie."

"Safe." And again. "Trust... Munchie."

She blinked. "No... no?"

Oh, double negative. And this time he smiled slowly, and instead of shaking their entwined hands side to side, he gently pulled them up and down, opposite of no. "Yes. Safe. Trust Munchie." He repeated each sentence again, each on its own, and tried to sound out the emotion deep in his soul that he held for this little chimchar, and how much it meant to have her there again, where... where she belonged. If he felt broken without her—then he belonged... _with_ her... no? And he wasn't going away. He could never go away. Never.

Finally, either because she had no other odds or trust had begun to collect within her, to put her faith within him, Ashley's bob of orange hair shook as she nodded her head, understanding the phrase all the better now. "Yes..." Pausing, unfinished business still along the line, her flaming orbs pinched up and, body stiffening, head down, she mumbled out, "Ashley... trust... Munchie." Oh gosh she was learning. He never thought he'd be the one leading her around, but he was. And Munchie gently, slowly, eyes on hers the entire time in complete, wholehearted assurance, let go of one of her hands, so he could, like, lead her. It'd be kind of awkward to lead the poor girl backwards or something like that. Eying about the place, Munchie's gaze settled further outward, on a bluff pointing out and back, to a far right of the opposite Beach Cave, which appeared to have a sound cave area within it they could access through minor trail-blazing. Also, trees hanging with leaves and moss provided both a shadowy shelter and bedding. They'd be pretty set here. When Munchie took his first step, his eyes flickered back to Ashley, and she, after staring blankly for a moment, registered and hesitantly kicked a foot through some sand and forward. She flinched back as a minor spray of yellow grit grazed her lower-leg. Somehow she continued to walk well, even with his hand over hers so she couldn't use her arms and legs. Then it came to Munchie's attention that he could teach her how to walk like a full biped, if he wanted. Aw, cool.

Seeming to get sick of the continuous assault of something whose name she didn't even know, Ashley screwed up her cute little cheeks and, with her free hand, pointed in rapt notice at the dunes below their feet a few times, her eyes foggy again. Munchie tried to think up a quick way of explaining to her what it was, then decided that it'd be easier if he set up a ground rule first. Raising his voice in the example of thick questioning, he thought about all the strange words and painfully decided, saying, "Who am this?" and looked down at the sand again in playful interpretation. He'd teach her the words _what_ and _is_ in due process. For now, she just needed some basics. He'd already used those words to her, and he didn't want her to get lost without knowing them, so whatever, might as well. He'd made sure if they ever were in public, first she got some more grammar polishing. But right now, they just needed to set some understanding. He longed—yearned for her to understand him, and if it meant tying up a few words by skipping some errors, he'd live with it for the time being.

Ashley understood, and pointed back at the sand. "Hoo—Who am this?"

He nodded. "This am sand." It hurt, man, it hurt. He'd just said _this am sand._ Anyone with any knowledge would scowl at him for using that sort of phrase, especially to the poor, lost chimchar. But hey, he wasn't really a teacher as it was. Spirit and Chindu—they could deal with that since they were in control of the guild. Munchie, on the other hand, just wanted to share all the moments he could with that chimchar by his side. Yes... she did change a lot, and she wasn't so spunky or loud and she didn't even know what a curse word was, let alone any curse words. But... her identity would never change on the inside. And no matter how much she herself changed, Munchie would... he'd admit it: he would always be in love with her. He would always love her and want to stay with her. _His_ soul... was drawn to _her_ soul. And... somehow, even through the loss and the confusion, he was sure Ashley felt the same deep inside, and she just couldn't comprehend it yet. But he'd help her until the very end, and when she understood coherent grammar, they could laugh about this moment, when he told her _this am sand._

Pointing to herself, she practiced. "This am Ashley?"  
And because in all honesty, it was technically true, he said, "This am Ashley," pointing back at her. The giddy smile in response was worth it. She was learning, and soon she could use these things and understand them all the better, and, screw it, Munchie was proud of her.  
"Who am this?" she asked, fingers pointing high above to the eggshell blue horizon.  
"This am sky," he murmured gently by her side, squeezing her fingers as they walked.  
"Who am this?" she asked, fingers scrabbling against the waters.  
"This am ocean," he murmured gently by her side, a smile blooming thick on his face. He honestly had no idea if she'd remember any of this by the end of the day, but Ashley was a bountiful learner, and she appeared excited to rehearse and rehearse until content she would collect all of the data again one day. Ashley pointed to her skull, asking what was up there, and Munchie told her it was her brain. In single relays of messages, tagging along back and forth, he somehow managed a conversation between the girl he so loved that remembered nigh nothing, and he was able to convey the message that her brain stored everything there was to know, as soon as she experienced it. He hadn't used quite those words, and it still took repetitive breaking down of subjects and verbs to show for it, but she truly had understood. Ashley... was regaining her lost knowledge.

Perhaps, one day, the time would come when he could hold full-on conversations with her, and they would both understand and talk together and... it would be nice. And maybe then he would... Maybe one day he would tell her about who she once was, who she used to be. Who she had once been, until she stopped existing and became something... She wasn't truly different, but she wasn't really better, either. She was... she was—she became something not deaf. She wasn't deaf any longer, and that took a chunk of what he meant to say into metaphorical meaning. But that seemed to fit. And perhaps one day he would explain to her the past. He had no doubt recognition wouldn't cross her face, because she'd been completely wiped of it, and he felt it was to such a level that memory... the memories truly didn't associate with her anymore.

But he still kind of wanted to express that past to her, and see what she had to say about it. Maybe... he wouldn't, although. She looked so small, so fragile, so shaky with her hand in his, her eyes wide and body shivering, and it seemed practically the only thing anchoring her to the world was who she held onto. With a jolt, Munchie recalled who that was, and despite himself he smiled about it. He couldn't help it. He burst in an emotional rainbow of effulgence, joy, stubborn glee—mostly happier notions high up on the scale—just... just because she was there, and she was there at his side, and she began to adjust to the warmth in her fingers and even though both of their palms were a little sticky, it was kind of nice, and she looked happy. It brought Munchie another round of giddiness to glance back and not only see the gently-moving chimchar but her pleasant adjusting as well to the situation at whole. As he considered it, what if he and she had switched places and he remembered naught but this chimchar he seemed attached to continued to look out for him—it would have been nice, in the least. And Munchie wanted her to feel nice, to feel happy. Ashley deserved to be happy. Always happy.

Once they reached the outskirts of the tunnel that fed into the cavern of a bluff with a view, Munchie quietly taught Ashley a new word called stay. He pointed his fingers to the ground, after telling her a small number on ground, dirt, rocks, those sorts of things, and told her gently to stay. Her head cocked and those eyes blurred again, so Munchie pointed his finger still and didn't move it, and murmured again, softly to her, "Stay." He blinked with his eyes in hers. "Ashley... stay."

"Stay?" she echoed, uncertain and quiet probably a little more than slightly afraid.

Munchie just wanted to go out and quickly nab some food and moss, make this bluff area a little more cozy for her. He'd pop right back in, just disappear for a moment. "Here." His arms expanded to where they stood. "Ashley... stay... here." He tried to imagine if someone kept pointing to him and then the ground and saying to stay, then showing off the landscape and telling them all about here. Maybe he was just being biased, but it seemed to make sense to him. All she had to do was focus a little and see he didn't want her to move. Her thoughts seemed to flash in her eyes, for she tried out a couple of little words she'd begun to learn:

"No walk?"  
"No walk."  
"No move?"  
"No move."

"Stay..? Here..?"  
He nodded gently. "Yes... Ashley, stay here." And it actually sounded like a real sentence and everything. He managed to address her like that on the first day and it was awesome and it even had correct grammar.

"No Munchie?" Suddenly, her orbs struck like flint in fright. She didn't even seem to know why, but that idea mortified her. Oh geez, Munchie had to think of something to get that off her mind. He wasn't leaving for that long but he didn't want to use more time explaining what was on his mind. Sadly, the only word that came to his mind was _temporary_ , and he didn't want to use such a huge word on Ashley's first day back to life. That was plain rude. And—more than ever—she was a lady. And that just made it worse.

He racked his brains for a moment, then slowly settled on another answer that looked a little better. She could handle double-syllable words. Heck, her name was a double syllable word, and so was his. "Ashley stay. Munchie leave—moment." Moment. Not forever. He tossed his hands back and forth as if to suggest he was cutting something off. He'd never leave her forever. It was just a quick second to step outside and grapple some fruits, get some moss, just the usual. He'd only be gone for a moment, then back to help her. He didn't want to be dragging her all over the place, and perhaps she could rest her feet or something there. No Munchie, he felt pretty strongly, could translate to leave if Ashley was stay. And moment—he'd paused, done the cut-up-air thing. Not for long. Never for long. He couldn't bear losing her—he just wanted her to rest while he got her some actual bedding, something to eat.

Ashley slowly, gently nodded, proving she understood and still trusted Munchie. He began to take slow, gentle steps out from the bluff, again rehearing what he'd just said, until he dispersed from her view. He'd be back quickly. Padded feet skidding across dirt and trail and sand alike, Munchie tore off satisfying hunks of thick, green, soft moss and fled to some other bush where he picked off too many apples for his own appetite to handle—he didn't know how hungry Ashley would be, she'd just started existing all over again—and rushed off to the girl he loved again, breathless by the time he scurried back. He decided he didn't like, whatsoever, leaving her off all alone like that. Nope. Not even for a moment. He never wanted to go through that again.

Apparently, she felt the same. That rush of flaming relief in her eyes caught his heart beating and made him smile off to himself some. Munchie felt like such a weird idiot, blinking madly to himself, but he still had the stuff taking up space in his arms down so he knocked the apples off in a storage sort of corner and attempted spreading the moss on the ground, but his trial to making a pair of beds ended with an untidy mesh that made one. Ashley, eyes wide and bright, planted herself beside him and moved her own fingers, somehow tying his mistake into a much nicer single bed... but—but it was still—but it was still only one bed and would she want to sleep with him well yeah Munchie wanted to sleep with her but would she be okay with that?

His breath went reeling as something smacked into him and both objects of interest stumbled to the ground, his arms quickly secure about the creature that had tumbled into him and theirs suddenly wrapped about him. Judging by the unconditional warmth given off, the shakiness of the body, and the overall feel of it, Munchie found it quite obvious who had attacked him. Ashley mumbled weakly into his shoulder, her face and breath warm against him, "Who am this..?" She—she... of course she didn't know about hugs. About what to call those... those feelings locked inside of her that he knew were there, where they always would be. And so, Ashley asked.

"Th-this... am..." His face flushed. "Hug."  
"Ashley... yes... hug," she fumbled over the words, and grinning, Munchie helped correct her until she could proudly go, "I like hug!" He'd told her about plurals and how it was hug _s_ but he wasn't sure Ashley quite understood the importance of the hissing sound at the end to secure it a plural noun. He didn't quite care though. She was hugging him, he was hugging her, and both seemed to really dig that.

Gently, awkwardly, testing out the words, Munchie added, "Munchie... Ashley... together." Munchie _and_ Ashley together, went the part of him that knew what grammar was, but the rest of him stared in peculiar awe at the warm-furred chimchar tied so closely to him. He began to recognize the little smile dawning over her cheeks, and felt a burst of pride that she seemed to be this elated. Quickly, because it really did pain him, he added, "Munchie... and Ashley—together." Then, trying to break it down for her, "Munchie... and—also Ashley. Both." He linked their fingers somewhere along the line at that word. "Together." Well, whether it was the warmth of the hug or his preaching, something or another must have made sense to his dear girl, because her head bobbled into the makings of a strong nod and they accepted this together.

Then her stomach let out a growl. And soon it became time for him to teach her the essentials of eating. Oh, Spirit would clobber the girl if he knew not only that she had not a clue what an apple was anymore, but straight after, Munchie planned to get them both to sleep, even though it'd only just peaked to a bright afternoon. They might just become nocturnal for a short time. Oh, the horror, he giggled softly to himself. But seriously if Spirit ever figured it out he'd kill them Munchie felt pretty set in his ways that Spirit would kill him, no hesitations. That cheery note on board, he assisted the cute, little girl up and brought her an apple, and himself one, too, to try and not confuse her even though his stomach was the kind that needed more food. He simply attempted to shrug it off for the time, and, sitting in their shared moss bed to-be, its silky confines comforting, Munchie taught her that this thing was an apple, and—remembering—he quickly pointed to the skin, then stuck out his tongue too, and called them both red. He pointed around until a splash of colors immersed, and he could safely call them a rainbow and assure that Ashley knew what the heck a red was, as well as everything else. Then he pointed back to the newly-labeled apple and simply said, "Food.

"We—Munchie and Ashley— _eat_ food." Then, with a notorious pose, he raised the crisp, red fruit to his mouth and took off a hunk in one bite, crunching the sweet fruit down. Ashley, staring with wide eyes at what she'd just witnessed, had nothing else to do but try and copy him, her own maw stretching with an attempt to swallow the same size a bite as the munchlax did. With some frantic chanting of noes and the shaking of his hands, he managed to convince the girl that it didn't matter, and some pokemon ate more or faster or bigger—or whatever—than others. He ended up teaching her sizes of names both big and small, next. Poor teachers had such a long, harrowing, exhausting job. He hoped he'd never have to do this thing again, oh gosh. It was nice, to help her out and have an excuse to be with her all the time, but dang, he was ready to curl up and sleep for a couple seasons. Once the apple cores were eaten to the seeds, or as far has Ashley could get with the food in her—not very far at all and Munchie ended up chowing her leftovers, which he explained vaguely—he deliberated that she, as well, had had a long morning, and her yaws outstretched in a thick yawn. Rather instinctively, her arms curled around him.

But then they didn't move, and he saw the flaming orbs peering up at him, and he thought they really didn't want to move, and realized quietly that Ashley wanted to stay there with him. Oh, he had to show her how to... sleep. Take a nap. Slowly, gently moving his back downward until hitting the soft fluff of the moss, Munchie directed his and Ashley's bodies until they lay side by side, down on the bedding. His eyes gently fluttered shut. "Sleep," he murmured, and yawned quite thickly. In procession, the chimchar to his side did as well, and then they... they actually snuggled together until both of them were out unconscious and the day slipped by through rest that each dearly needed. Munchie had never truly slept with another, especially one so close to him, right there, by his side.

It was like magic to wake up and still see her there, and for her to be the first thing his eyes caught. Her cute, warm bunches of orange fur on her arms and legs, up to her neck, over her back, her chest a clean, pale color. The actually not steaming but simply lukewarm flame burning on her backside—her tail, yes. The bob of orange hair about her sweet face, and the longer knotted-up section in the back, and both of her ears: and she wasn't deaf any longer, as it was a deformity of her past, because of the monster that started it all. She was completely wiped of any trace of what didn't exist any longer: anything stepping outside of her soul in general was gone. And she had both of her ears; someone had really taken their time on her. It brought him such colorful joy caught up in his chest to see her like this, perfect and whole and—

Then he wondered what the heck was going on in _her_ head. The Ashley prior, the one who was rooted to her true origins and knew each of these things, not so amnesiac and malformed, practically, like such, with her deafness and her cussing and her everything else, Munchie knew she would have been happy. But he hadn't thought of how this poor girl would feel now, with her mindless brain that had only just started working again, and held no information for anything that might have concerned her. Munchie had begun the slow teaching to her of all things she needed, starting with plucking words in general then to things like actions, like food, categories, lists, a multifarious of how-was-he-supposed-to-do-this, but he had to, and... having no way to voice her opinions, Ashley had to stick to him. But even still, she appeared bright and happy enough to stay with him. It... it must have been scary for the poor chimchar to awaken after another fluctuation of some space-time continuum or another, after the lightning and the light and the sparks died down, and she woke with a bolt of listless energy in the sand, too afraid to even get herself up, off the ground. What would it have been like, to her, to see him reaching out to her fetal figure with his gentle self—to welcome her? Only time would tell when she could explain that "first" meeting to him. It wasn't their first, and whether she knew it or not, there was an entire line of a past betwixt them already. Considering the dear girl he nearly lost—the first... Ashley?—it told him to not just go and start spewing about the screwed future of anything. He was a horrid teacher, but he had been consoled better than that. He wanted Ashley to be built up on a feeling of safety, of warmth and happiness and the knowledge that he—he would always be there for her. Perhaps one day she would learn the use of the words and she would grow stronger, and she would be there for him, too. But the truth was, just the fact that she had returned and despised the thought of losing sight of him for even the thinnest flurry of moments: it was enough to warm him up and keep him moving on.

"Who am this?" Her fingers grazed past the sky she's gotten to know, past the cloudless barriers he had yet to explain with no clouds out, and it poked at the flaming, golden ball rising in the sky.  
"This am sun," he murmured to her softly. The cold chill of realization struck him that one day he'd have to teach her about magic and Mystery Dungeons—no, he was getting Spirit and Chindu to help him on that note. No way was he doing that alone.

Munchie and Ashley lived in their strange bluff cave together for a time. He didn't see anyone, and nobody saw him. It was just he, and just her, and he felt like nothing else truly mattered for him. They easily lived off of the apples and various fruits provided, and whenever a long day had passed slumber was relatively easy on the moss bedding. If it ever grew stale, Munchie simply dropped that one off somewhere or another and rounded up more moss. The lithe chimchar always followed him. At first, he did succeed in teaching her how to walk on just her legs, but she continued lagging and crashing and he thus had to explain to her about her hands and she was meant to use those too as she walked. Whenever he turned back and watched the small, still-somewhat-shaking girl hop to him, he smiled, and he so easily saw the same chimchar before him: the one that he first met, the one that he helped return to life, and ultimately, the one he loved, and the only one he loved. She had changed drastically, which became more noticeable as more words flooded her insight—should have seen the look on her face when he explained to her that "that am" and "who am" were sometimes the wrong grammar and had to carefully reteach her all of that. For one, she truly had none of that blackness hollowed in her any longer. And, Munchie felt guilty for rejoicing in this, but, come on: no Influence, man. No more Influence. The world was a beautiful place. As well, she'd become incredibly soft and docile and quiet, but even so, a form of outright swankiness. She didn't like it when Munchie did something either out of the ordinary or without her consent or knowing. She was no longer deaf and loved to listen, and she loved it when her dialogue grew and Munchie and she began to speak more frequently.

The thin munchlax had a sneaking suspicion she'd grown to her own voice, too, and appreciated the ability to hear herself. She would never know, but her past self—or simply her in prior time, before she stopped existing and all that—her past self had never heard her own voice in her entire life, not until she returned with not a trace of the future on her. One day, he was sure, she would want him to tell her more, about the past—and he could go into it, delve deeper, and truly explain to this girl about who she was. She, more than anyone else, did deserve to know. Perhaps it would never be able to click, and she'd never truly understand, but she did trust Munchie. She knew that word very well, and relayed it to him quite often. Even though her grammar levels had begun to improve, it was a simple "Trust Munchie" that always set his heart racing. She could have said something like _I trust you_ or _Munchie is to be trusted_ , but she chose to just keep on using bad grammar for the heck of it. That was one of the small things that reminded him of her before. A single phrase swam to mind each time: _fuck the rules._ Oh, how she had. Did Ashley even know, somewhere in the fates or perhaps in her own self—did she know how true that had become? Maybe. Well, he did. And he had her, and she had him, and oh dang it looked like both of them weren't letting go, and it was great.

Tedious days filled with lessons began to take easier strides when Munchie ran out of things for Ashley to point at and question. She heavily enjoyed systematic orders and memorized rather quickly, so when something out of order happened—like one time a tornado struck—she both cowered and fumed, too, a little. Munchie later found himself hugging the poor girl close to him and telling her softly about tornadoes and that they weren't so scary, and they weren't so bad, and they happened sometimes. Magic didn't have a pattern. He'd get into that last part when he found her satisfying enough to take out to friends and reveal that Ashley was back again. Considering all that he taught her, whenever he remembered something new he'd use the dumb catchphrase _this am_ to grab her attention and would try to explain to her what it was like, to show it off. For things like snow and cold and icecaps, he really had to get creative trying to show off chills. Living by the ocean did that to pokemon, since there wasn't all that much snow around, and he had to point at his angular ears and her tail to—not hot, not Ashley, not warm—using a ton of synonyms to counter and craft antonyms—this is cold, and ice, and shiver—and when he used that word, _shiver,_ it reminded her of her shakiness and she started to get the idea of it a little more. One day he'd show her actual snow.

Trees proved to be such a hard topic for him to get out to her that he took her over to one and placed his hand on the bark, motioning for her to do the same. Unlike how she had once been, Munchie could never get angry at her. He simply couldn't form the true, bubbling anger and boil-over of emotions. There were times Munchie was annoyed at himself for his teaching, what with the whole grammatical error of who am this, but he couldn't truly yell, and he was honestly happy enough she'd shown again it was hard to gain any other emotions besides the sheer, incredible joy of it. Trees were hard, but not so bad after he opened up her perspectives, even lifting out his arms and twirling to show the branches, the shaking in the wind, the leaves. Seeing her eyes sparkle and widen was a magical moment, and he liked it even more than he did Mystery Dungeons and their glory. He'd just put Ashley above Fyshyngtyn. That meant something, man, that meant something.

By far his favorite moment of teaching his beloved girl into life again was as they nigh fell into sleep one cooling night—Spirit would be happy again—and her head rose up, and her orbs fell across him, and she mumbled, "Munchie—what is this warmth—in me?" Hearing all of those words strung so thoughtfully together had made him happy—look at how much she'd come—but... the meaning within the words burned deep into his soul. She wanted to know why her heart felt so warm all of the time, perhaps if this was natural. He knew that it would take some tedious wording to get through with this, but it still was wrought with a smile.

"The warmth... is special." She knew that word by then. He'd called her special multiple times and how everything was different—special. "Not forever. Moments." Munchie had deliberately chosen the word moments because of that first time, when he'd left her just for a moment—not forever. When he'd chosen that word over temporary, because it had been smaller. "There are... _many_ emotions. Warmth is... emotion, but there are many." He had to teach her others and more at some point. Those words by themselves.

Her eyes, so wide and curious, looked deep into him. "But why the warmth?"

"It's..." That was the only apostrophe word he'd taught her so far, and it nearly took her by surprise to hear it again. "It is—it's..." Sadly, only one word could fit that space and as awkward as it felt, there was no other way he could teach her. "It's love." She seemed freaked out by that sudden word. "Love is good. Love is... happy. Happy is good. Happy is emotion—one emotion. Love is one emotion." He held up both hands and spread them apart, their backs on the ground and eyes to the sky, trying to distinguish that love was one emotion, and happy was another, but they were also warm, and nice, and similar. "Love is happiest." The word took her off guard, and she stiffened until it began to seem less of a strange thing to use, the addition to the original word, happy, to happiest.

"How... Munchie—show—love?"

She was too curious. He was going to kill himself on the inside at this point. Smirking to himself, it reminded him of a crafty chimchar that was her, but also wasn't quite. They both had become the same, and they both were Ashley, and he loved her. Simple as that. Groaning silently to himself, Munchie moved his head to the side and somewhat sort of maybe let it press against hers a little tiny possible bit. "Kiss... shows love." Then, "Kisses... show love." Grammar was a key to sounding crisp and clear.

Ashley had taken that to heart and suddenly kissed him back.

It was the most awkwardest thing in the world to teach her about that feeling, but he had, and he was done. He was out. Munchie was done, man.

Still, when he reflected upon his time, it always got his heart racing. Also it taught Ashley a new skill called kissing-Munchie which she seemed to enjoy doing par...particularly...often. Which was—which was nice and all that. But it was this conglomeration of moments and the growth of Ashley's knowledge who was now speaking nigh just like she used to with the exception of Mystery Dungeons, the screwed future, and a couple of terms he'd probably forgotten about, oh, like friends—Jalendalynne and everyone would be next. They were going on what he emphasized as a journey, and explained to her softly that unless she wanted to, they didn't have to stay around in the place they were visiting. He had to reconnect her with the other pokemon, show her if she wanted, she could stay with them—where she retorted that she wasn't staying unless Munchie stayed too—but truly—the time did come. His friends were going to be so angry with him for not visiting in all that time, but he'd been busy, and they would understand when they saw her.

Another thing he refused to teach her were the words Ashley once adorned upon her sentences like accessories. Words that he pretty much never used because he wasn't like that. He thought Ashley would like that more, to not even know what those words were, much less anything about them at all to prevent it in the first place. So when he and she finished up and swept out the last of the moss and he brought her on the long trails of Mystery Dungeons and everything—whenever she asked what it was, he told her she would understand soon. It took a relatively short hike to cross through all of the magical lands and into the dip of Treasure Town, a much shorter scale in comparison to how long it'd taken him to teach that girl everything in the world. Geez, no wonder they were so attached. If he was in her life at the time—yeah, no way. Ashley would have been the one thing keeping him from going insane, did that happen.

Munchie had to round up Jalendalynne who thankfully didn't say much about it because she was a dear and then round up the guild to which Spirit was so upset with him for leaving he asked him if it was because he'd gone gay, too, when he was supposed to be in love with Ashley, which would have messed him up alrighty, but he gathered his friends and even decided, heck, why not, to end up in the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn to tell his story and let them all gather round and explain with Ashley as well. Sticking together in a comfortable clump on some sandy archipelago's island or another, the orange-dyed waves and sands comforting about them, ensconcing them together, the pokemon of the kingdom free to listen if they felt like it—he just thought the place was cool okay—he told them. He told them a lot of things. He told them about the final spoke point and the drop of the time gears and the loss of someone they all knew dearly—and how they were supposed to forget any of that happened, because the present had changed the future and all that good stuff.

But they didn't, and he didn't quote her, but the words rumbled in his head. _Fuck the rules._ Everyone but Ashley herself pretty much figured that's what had been said. Munchie then had to go through the tale of how he brought all the time gears back to their homes, visited for some time, then took to exploring. It helped him try to focus on anything but... the pain. But it was always there, and eventually he broke down on a Beach Cave that was opposite of the one they all knew well enough. And... eventually, at the end of the sunrise, he'd looked up and a bolt of light happened and then Ashley happened, and she remembered nothing, and he had to teach her how to live—words, food, heck, he had to teach her about waste and all that great stuff nobody wanted to think about all that much. He had to teach her everything.

He was going to need help on Mystery Dungeons. And that was when everyone started butting in and charged with electrical knowledge, everyone focusing in on the chimchar who now wasn't deaf. He'd explained that to them as well, and now even Jalendalynne took a say or so, and each incorporated, and it was pretty bad and messy, but the grin hanging on Ashley's face kept him watching over her and smiling back. These were the pokemon he assured her she could trust as well, but don't trust Byrender with secrets because he tells everyone, don't even pick a teasing fight with Jordan, try to remember who Drynt was, get used to Mystic's strange sort of sarcasm, and, right, Spirit and Chindu were gay. Jalendalynne was pretty cool, and he didn't have much to voice in apprehensive worry about her or anything.

Eventually, somehow, Ashley began to understand, and she could even list the names of a couple Mystery Dungeons—the Foggy Forest, the Beach Caves, and also the Waterfall Cave because Munchie loved the Waterfall Cave and she absolutely had to know what that was—and it was decided they would finish this up tomorrow, or however much longer it might take, and Munchie was to stay in the area until that was secured. He could roam all he wanted afterword, but first Spirit stuck a fluffy white hand on his chest and let him know he'd better visit more often.

Munchie didn't mind all that much. Once they finished, he planned on roaming about with Ashley some and meeting more characters that resided within the Mystery Dungeon world they lived in, like the kingdom of Fyshyngtyn and the bluff by the other Beach Cave he and she had been sleeping in. If they didn't find anyone, heck, there was always the greenies to try to converse with, which didn't work but was pretty adorable to watch them try.

What mattered was that whatever happened, he'd keep the chimchar by his side. They could explore, do whatever, all they wanted, and he and she could honestly fit in anywhere they went, just by nature, just because they all shared their general liking to the beauties surrounding them, but the only time he would truly belong was if this girl was with him.

"Munchie..?" she asked him quietly as their friends began to settle down.

"Yes, Ashley?" came his quiet response, soft with the husk upon it.

"I love you, Munchie," was all she had to say, before flopping onto a pile of thick sand and slinking into sleep so inhumanely quickly he just stared for a moment.

Then, "I love you, Ashley," he told the unconscious chimchar. Because he did.

And that was all that mattered.

 **So... now it's over. Heh. What did you think? :3 It's an interesting little story, if nothing else. I'll just say that it's impossible for me to imagine Ashley as who she is now! XD I've known her for over half of my life by now and oh my gosh I can not see her so quiet and everything, but it's honestly the best way for the story to end, and I feel that it's a nice ending.  
I just can't see her acting like that as a freelance character in my mind.**

 **Ashley: fuck logic. Fuck reason. Fuck the rules.**

 **Me: YEAH THANKS YOU TOO.**

 **Well... My name... koff, is Starry's Light, and thank you for reading this funky dunky tale of mine. X3 Ashley loves you.**

 **Ashley: yes she does.**


End file.
